


No Pain, No Gain

by Robin_tCJ



Category: Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, American Flag underwear, Anal Sex, Awkward Dates, Background Het, Background Slash, Blowjobs, Casual Sex, Explicit Sexual Content, Human AU, Love Is for Children, M/M, Non-powered Alternate Universe, POV Steve Rogers, POV Tony Stark, Pet Names, Requited Love, Rimming, Sexy Times, Switching, The Author Regrets Nothing, Unrequited Love, Yoga, booty texting, bottom!Steve, bottom!tony, emotionally stunted, foreground slash, lack of kickboxing knowledge, reading glasses, the author regrets some things, top!steve, top!tony, vicious swans, whole lotta porn here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-15
Updated: 2016-02-15
Packaged: 2018-05-20 15:58:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 22,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6015274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Robin_tCJ/pseuds/Robin_tCJ
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony Stark, a kickboxing instructor at Fury's Gym, doesn't do BOYFRIENDS. He doesn't even hook up with the same person twice. But for Adonis-slash-artist Steve Rogers, he'll make an exception.</p><p>“Okay, things are getting awkward,” Tony says, leaning back into Steve's personal space. He presses forward so his lips are almost, not quite, brushing Steve's own. “Cards on the table, here. I don't like entanglements. I don't do relationships. So you have two options here. You can either turn around and walk out the door – no harm, no foul. Or, you can kiss me, and we can take this to the bedroom and you can enjoy some really hot casual sex. No regrets.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“One – two – cross – kick. Knee – block – jab – jab!”

Tony Stark bounces while he calls out the sequence, watching his students for proper form. The bags they're working with are heavy, and most of his class members, while fairly advanced, are still twice-a-week participants, and the _thunks_ he always hopes to hear would be more aptly described as – well, actually, he doesn't know what that sound is, but it's kind of weak.

“Come on, people,” he says, raising his voice and adding a spin-kick into the mix. “You gotta burn it to earn it!”

He regrets it as soon as it comes out of his mouth – not because it's cheesy. Oh, no, he prides himself on cheesy. But Clint Barton is leaning against the studio door, a big shit-eating grin on his face as he watches, and Tony's going to have to put a dollar in the Rhyme Jar. Shit.

But the locals like the rhymes, so he's mostly just mad he got caught.

He glares at Clint, executes another spin kick, and keeps up a steady litany of instruction. They're almost at the end of the class.

“Okay, people. I wanna make you cry, so hit it double time! Let's see those manful tears! Kick – cross – knee – block – jab – cross – spin – cross – jab – jab – _jab_!”

He keeps them moving until the sweat starts to pour into his eyes, then he leads a cool-down jog in place and some stretches.

Tony has two more classes scheduled for today, though, so as he bids the last of the students farewell, he starts resetting the room.

Tony's kickboxing classes are a pretty popular choice among the members of Fury's Gym, but his afternoon class will be slow so he carefully starts pulling down some of the heavy bags. His classes always go better when he has a good line of sight, and rather than having ten people trying to peer around thirty bags, he'd rather take some of them down.

It's hard work – they _are_ called heavy bags for a reason – but he doesn't mind it. He's just glad Fury's has a dedicated kickboxing studio. The last gym he taught at, he'd had to share the room with a step class and a Zumba class, so he had to take the bags down after every session.

But Fury's is a pretty big operation. Tony knows Nick Fury, the owner, has received more than one offer to purchase from a large conglomerate, but he's yet to take an offer. He tells the staff he's not ready to retire (well, actually, his exact words were “I'm too young to fucking retire, why the fuck would I sell the gym?” and “ I'll sell it when I'm fucking dead, or when all of your assorted bullshit kills me,” but that's irrelevant), but there's a part of Tony that thinks Fury just likes being the owner of the coolest gym in the city.

And it _is_ a really cool gym. There's even a competition-sized pool off the north side, and Fury employs a full-time personal swim coach for platinum members.

And the tech. Oh, the tech is like some kind of wet dream for Tony. Sure, half of it's his – he's designed a couple of personal fitness monitors that members can rent while they're working out, and he's even tweaked a couple of the more popular cardio machines so they're more intuitive to the user's needs – but the point is Fury lets him use it. Encourages it. Asks if Tony's come up with anything else cool to help put Fury's further ahead of the pack.

And yeah, Fury pays him a commission, but Tony doesn't need the money. He's never really needed the money, he just wants a job with weird, part-time hours so he has time to play with his tech.

He puts the last of the removed heavy bags up against the wall in the corner, turns out the lights and leaves the room. He's got a couple hours to kill, and he's pretty sure the steam room is calling his name.

Tony swings by the juice bar, and orders a chocolate cherry smoothie while Wanda Maximoff, the juice girl, shakes her head at him.

“You know, Stark, this is probably the least healthy option on our menu,” she reminds him in her soft Slavic accent as she hands him the drink.

“I don't drink it for my health, Kewpie doll. It's the only thing you've got behind that counter with caffeine in it.” He takes a loud, slurping drink from his styrofoam cup while he wiggles his fingers at her in a wave and walks away.

“That's not good for you, either. I could add matcha to any drink here,” she calls after him, laughter in her voice.

“You're such a hipster,” he says, turning around again so he's walking away backwards. “Matcha tastes like feet, and you should be ashamed.”

Wanda just laughs at him.

Tony makes his way to the staff locker room, and finds it empty. He pulls his sweaty shirt over his head and toes off his shoes, and makes his way toward the shower.

He doesn't really need to shower before a steam, but he knows he smells like a mound of week-old gym socks, and he doesn't want to subject _anyone_ to that.

He finishes undressing before he slips under the hot spray, and does a quick, half-assed soaping job. He rinses his hair and puts his things away in his locker before he wraps a fluffy white towel around his waist and takes the service door to the little alcove that gets him to the main entrance of the men's steam room.

He grabs a bottle of water from the cart outside the door, and goes inside.

“Hey, Tones, good to see you! How was your class?”

Tony peers through the vapour to spot James Rhodes sitting against the back wall, on the second bench. Rhodey's been a member at Fury's for three years, and was in fact integral to Tony getting this job. He moves to sit next to him.

“Class was good, Sugar Butt. How's it going?”

They make small talk for a while, and Tony lets the steam seep heat into his pores.

“I've got news, motherfuckers!” Clint announces gleefully as he comes into the steam room a little while later. Tony had just been planning to leave and get some fresh air ahead of his next class, but Clint always has all the details on the good gossip before anyone else even knows it exists, so he decides a few more minutes won't hurt.

Clint teaches a twice a week specialized obstacle course fitness class, and the rest of the time he's a personal trainer. Between talking to so many gym members one-on-one, being back and forth from the front desk so often, and his ability to lip-read from eighty feet, he's usually a pretty accurate source.

He flops down on the bench in front of Tony and Rhodey, and the only other lone patron in the steam room pushes the door open and leaves, so it's just the three of them. Clint stretches back and leans away so he can look Tony and Rhodey in the face.

“Nick finally accept an offer on this place?” Rhodey guesses.

Clint smirks at him. “Not a chance.”

“Pietro finally figured out you're an asshole and dumped your ass?” Tony tries, softening the barb with a half-smile and a wink.

“Even less of a chance, Pietro thinks I'm amazing.”

“Well, I'm not making any more guesses – you wouldn't have barged in here like that if you weren't itching to tell someone what you know,” Tony says, crossing his arms.

Clint just looks him in the eye while the smile on his face broadens.

“Nat's seein' somebody.”

Tony rolls his eyes. “Have you ever looked at Natasha? Of course she's seeing somebody, she has to beat them back with a stick.”

“No, no, she's _seeing_ somebody. As in she's having a _relationship_.”

Tony and Rhodey look at one another for a beat. “You mean she found someone she could stand for more than three days?”

Clint bounces, practically clapping his hands with excitement. “They've been dating for _two months_.”

Tony slaps a hand down on knee, the sound muffled by his towel. “I knew it! She's been so scary and angry and – wait, no, I've noticed nothing outside the norm. Are you sure?”

“Well, considering the conversation I had with her not twenty minutes ago, I'm pretty sure.” His voice switches to a high falsetto. “'Oh, Clint, he's so gorgeous and sweet and nice and you're going to love him so much'!”

Rhodey does his best, but he's not able to keep the snort in. Tony just drops his chin and looks up at Clint through his eyelashes.

“Okay, so it was more like I found out because I saw a text come in on her phone, and someone called her 'babe', and she told me if I said anything to anyone she would drown me in the pool, and she'd make sure no one knew what happened to me.”

“So you came in here to tell us?” Tony grins.

“Well, now you'll know what happened to me when I turn up missing.”

“If you think I'm testifying against Natasha Romanoff, you are seriously mistaken.”

“So that's it? That's your big news, though?” Rhodey pipes up. “I feel like you really didn't deliver on this whole 'gossip' thing. Some nebulous guy who texts and calls her 'babe'?”

“Which, if he's still alive now, _is_ impressive,” Tony points out.

“The good part's still coming,” Clint says. “She's convinced him to join the gym. So he's going to start coming here. And we're going to get to _meet_ him.”

Tony stares at him for a moment.

“Am I the only one who never thought I'd live to see the day? Natasha's going to introduce us to her _boyfriend_.”

Rhodey shakes his head. Tony shrugs. “You have to admit, it's pretty unprecedented.”

“Oh, muster up some enthusiasm,” Clint says.

“I'm just saying,” Tony says as he stands to leave. “Once we've _actually_ met him, and we have proof of life after their first fight, _then_ we can get excited.”

“Whatever. Nat's in love, and there'll be a wedding by spring, I'm telling you.”

Tony snorts. “That, I'd pay to see,” he says as he walks out of the steam room to get ready for his next class.

“And don't think I forgot what you said in your class this morning,” Clint calls after him. “You owe the Rhyme Jar a dollar!”

 

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

 

Tony strides into the Wednesday morning meeting late, as per usual. Fury glares at him, as per usual. Tony gives a jaunty, unrepentant wave – as per usual.

“Why, _thank_ you, _Mister_ Stark, for _deigning_ to join us this morning,” Fury says, leaning across his desk. “We do _so_ love it when you see fit to show up.”

“Oh, yeah, sorry, not sorry. I had something really important going on. Super-important.”

He sees Natasha roll her eyes, and Clint tries to hold back a smirk. No one else reacts.

Then Tony spots Bruce Banner on the other side of the room and lunges forward, pulling the yoga instructor into a bear hug. “Brucie! You're home!”

“Hi, Tony,” he says, grinning.

“How was your Cunnilingus workshop?”

“Kundalini, Tony. You know it's kundalini.”

“My way's better.”

“Are you done?” Fury's voice hits a fun new pitch, and Tony's pretty proud of himself because it took less than a minute today.

Not that he's going to stop.

“Are you? Did I miss the part where you tell us all to sell lots of memberships yet? Or do you still need to get there?”

Fury sighs, and pinches the bridge of his nose. “All right, fine. Sell memberships, have good classes, and I'm still waiting for everyone's schedules for next month, _Tony_ , so Maria can build the program schedule.”

Tony shrugs. “I'll have it on your desk tomorrow. Latest, day after. Scout's honour.”

Everyone shuffles out of Fury's office, and Maria Hill, the manager and membership coordinator, falls into step beside Tony. “I do not understand how you still have a job,” she says with a pointed glare. “Literally no one else here could talk to Nick like that and still be able to come to work in the morning, and you do it on a regular basis.”

Tony smirks. “Nicky has a soft spot for me. I make sure all his machines run better than any other gym, and they have more features. He'd wither and die without me.”

“I hardly think that's true,” Maria says, breaking off to move toward her own office.

Tony jogs a little to catch up to Bruce and puts an arm around his neck in a light headlock. “Did you miss me?”

Bruce chuckles at him. “I always miss you,” he says, deadpan. “Are you going to come to my class today?”

Tony rocks a hand back and forth. “I'm currently undecided.”

“Have you been practicing at all while I was gone?”

Tony rocks that same hand again. “Well, two days after you left there was this redhead, really athletic, we got flexible –”

“Oh, God, Tony,” Bruce chides, rubbing his forehead. “Sex isn't yoga, I've told you that.”

“No, but it's fun.” Tony wiggles his eyebrows up and down lecherously.

“You really should come to practice this afternoon. It'll be a nice, quiet class, you can really focus.”

Tony lets out a put-upon sigh. He knows he'll end up going, because it's Bruce. He's not actually very good at yoga, but the afternoon class is quiet, and Bruce will just give him a disappointed look if Tony doesn't go.

He still feels the need to have put up a little bit of a fight.

“Fine, fine. If you insist. I will come and be a shining light of all that's good in your sad little afternoon class.”

“It's a yin class, it will be easy on you. If you haven't been practicing for the last two weeks, you'll need it.”

Tony waves off with a salute and heads toward the locker room to change for his first class of the morning. He still has lots of time to set up, but he hates to be rushed.

 

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

 

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

 

Steve Rogers unpacks the last grocery bag before turning toward the sofa, where his best friend, Bucky Barnes, is munching on a Power Bar.

“What time is Natasha coming over?” Steve asks him. Natasha, Bucky's girlfriend, has been coming over most evenings for the last month. Steve likes her, thinks she's good for Bucky, but he also doesn't want to hang around being the third wheel.

“'Bout eight,” Bucky says around his mouthful. “We're just gonna watch a movie. You don't have to leave.”

Steve rolls his eyes, turning back to the fridge to pull out a bottle of water. “Buck, you and I both know that halfway through, you two will devolve into a make-out session and I'm going to leave the room, and not be able to finish watching the movie.”

Bucky shrugs with a grin. “Maybe this time we'll get all the way through.”

Steve just snorts. “No, it's fine. I was going to take my camera out and go get some night shots of the bridge, anyway.”

“Cool. Listen, you know how Natasha said we could have a two week trial period at that gym she works out of? I think I'm gonna go tomorrow. You in?”

Steve wants to argue, he does. Fury's Gym is he coolest gym in the city – all the machines are practically smarter than he is. It even has a pool. All that has to mean big dollars, and he's not sure he wants to shell out that kind of money for a gym membership when he's trying to concentrate on his art right now. But he also knows how good it will be for Bucky to go.

So he agrees.

 

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

 

Steve walks from one end of the bridge to the other, bringing his Canon up to his face every few feet to try a different angle. He's not sure what it is he's looking for, but he wants to get as many reference shots as he can muster. He's taking a few steps backward, camera pointed upward, when he backs directly into someone.

“Oh, God, I'm so sorry,” he says, whirling around. He blinks. The man he's run into is gorgeous. Dark hair, sculpted goatee, tight T-shirt showing off sinewy muscles. Steve feels a flush build in his cheeks. “I should have been watching where I was going.”

The man looks him up and down, and smirks. “But then you wouldn't have got your shot.” He waves vaguely at the camera Steve's still holding up. His eyes are dancing.

Steve meets his gaze. “That's true. There's no accounting for artistic integrity.”

“So you're a pro?”

“Oh, no. Just getting some reference shots.”

The dark-haired man's smirk becomes a half-smile. “Reference for what?”

“I'm a painter,” Steve says, shrugging.

“Nice.” The man holds out a hand. “Tony Stark,” he says with a nod.

Steve shuffles his camera to his other hand and take's the other man's. “Steve Rogers.” He's glad his palms are dry, but the contact of the other man's skin causes his mouth to go dry, too. Tony's thumb brushes a small swirl on the back of his hand softly, and Steve feels a tingle go straight to the pit of his stomach.

“So you're an artist. Paint anything I might know?”

Steve gives a wan smile. “I'm not famous or anything. I scrape by. There's this little gallery down on Seventh Avenue that's pretty good about showing my stuff.”

“Do you just paint bridges? Or do you branch out?”

“Oh, mostly bridges. I like the lines.”

Tony stares at him for a beat. “I'm kidding. I paint lots of things. A lot of portraits.”

It's then that Steve realizes Tony still has his hand.

He swallows, and starts to take his hand back. Opens his mouth. “Do you –”

“Wanna go get a drink?” Tony says at the same time. They grin at one another.

Steve ducks his head. “Sure.”

It's a short walk to a little pub on 28th Street. Tony holds the door open for him, and Steve thinks it's silly but also adorable.

Tony orders a scotch from the woman who comes to their table, and Steve asks for a beer.

“Nothing harder?” Tony asks him, flippantly but genuinely curious.

“Not much of a drinker. I don't like the hard stuff,” Steve shrugs.

Tony just nods and leans forward, lacing his fingers together on the table. “So what else should I know about you, Steve Rogers?”

“What else? You don't know anything yet.”

“Well, I know you're an artist. I know your name. I know you like to take photos but you don't consider yourself a professional.” The server comes back with their drinks, and Steve tips the neck of his bottle at Tony in salute, but Tony's still speaking. “I know there's a gallery on Seventh that sells your art. I know you don't always look where you're going. I know you have the most intense blue eyes I've ever seen, and a gorgeous ass, and I know I wanna take you home with me tonight.”

Steve blinks at him, blushing furiously. He takes a few moments to convince sound to come out of his throat.

“Seems like an awful lot in a pretty short amount of time,” he says. He's pretty impressed his voice doesn't crack.

“I can be _really_ attentive.”

Steve's breath hitches.

 

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

 

Steve only drinks half his beer, and Tony pays for the drinks. He knows it's a mistake, he doesn't know this guy at all, but something about the night, about the way Tony looks at him, those eyes burning into his with purpose and desire – it's a mistake, but he's going to make it anyway.

They walk a few blocks to Tony's apartment. They don't talk much, but every once in a while Tony steps a little closer to him and bumps his shoulder while they walk. Every few steps, Steve thinks about changing his mind. He doesn't do one night stands. He's never gone home with a guy he's known for less than an hour. Tony could be a serial killer – or he could have a sex dungeon!

Steve realizes he's not sure if that idea scares him or excites him.

When did he turn into such a tramp?

Tony's building is nestled in between two much taller complexes, and Steve has the giddy thought that the distressed brickwork of the structure would make a nice texture to add to his work. He doesn't have much time to think about it because instead of opening the door, Tony pushes Steve back against it and presses their lips together in a sudden, heated kiss.

It starts as a struggle for dominance. Their lips mash, teeth clacking together, and Tony's hands snake up to hold Steve's face between calloused fingers. Steve lets out a soft sound, and then the kiss changes. It grows softer, and Tony's tongue licks gently at his lips, requesting entry.

Steve grants it, and Tony slides his tongue along the inside of Steve's bottom lip, soliciting another quiet moan.

Tony slowly winds the kiss down, breaking it and resting his forehead against Steve's while they catch their breath.

“Still wanna come up?” Tony asks, his voice low.

Steve throws caution to the wind, and gently runs his fingertips along Tony's abs. He leans forward and nips a quick peck on Tony's lips. “Yeah.”

When they get up the elevator and into the apartment, Tony moves to the fridge.

“Can I get you something to drink?” he asks, opening the door and peering over it at Steve. “I have beer, water, grapefruit juice...”

“Water's fine,” Steve says, and he's starting to get nervous again. His mouth is dry, so when Tony hands him the bottle of water he takes two quick swigs.

Then Tony's in his face again, gently taking the water from his grasp. Instead of bringing their lips together, though, this time Tony leans in and presses a wet, open-mouthed kiss right against Steve's Adam’s apple. He swallows audibly, and Tony lets his tongue lick a trail up to Steve's jawbone, then nips gently at it with his teeth.

Tony's hand slides up under Steve's shirt, baring his navel, and Steve shivers when Tony runs a palm along the ridges of his abs.

“I knew these would be incredible,” Tony murmurs into his neck, behind his ear, before trailing his lips back to Steve's mouth. Steve's not sure what to do with his hands, so he settles them on Tony's waist, pressing his thumbs into solid hip bones.

Tony pulls back a little, grins. “What do you think, Gorgeous? Rough or gentle?”

“I – I don't know,” Steve gasps, trying to concentrate while Tony's fingers graze just under the waistband of his jeans.

“Okay, top or bottom?” Tony nips at his jaw again.

“I don't – I've never –”

Tony stills, takes a deliberate step back, meeting Steve's eyes. “You're not a virgin, are you?”

There's no judgment there, but Steve feels defensive anyway. He takes a step forward, not wanting to break contact with Tony.

“No, no. Nothing like that. I just – I don't usually go home with strangers.” He swallows.

“Oh,” Tony shrugs. “I do.”

“Oh.”

“I like sex. I don't feel bad about it.”

“No, no, you shouldn't. That's...”

“Okay, things are getting awkward,” Tony says, leaning back into Steve's personal space. He presses forward so his lips are almost, not quite, brushing Steve's own. “Cards on the table, here. I don't like entanglements. I don't do relationships. So you have two options here. You can either turn around and walk out the door – no harm, no foul. Or, you can kiss me, and we can take this to the bedroom and you can enjoy some really hot casual sex. No regrets.”

Steve smirks a little at him. “How do you know it's going to be really hot?” he asks cheekily.

Tony looks him up and down, with an obvious glint in his eye. “With that body? Big guy, just looking at you is rocking my world.”

Steve blushes a little, and hesitates. Tony hasn't moved. He knows he only has to move forward a quarter of an inch, and they'll be pressed together, lips to knees. He glances down at Tony's full mouth, soft and pink and wet. It makes Steve want to lick them – so he does. Makes a decision. Swipes his tongue along the top lip, then the bottom, then pulls Tony's bottom lip in between his teeth, gently, and suckles it.

Tony makes a triumphant, pleasure-filled sound in the back of his throat, and presses his hips forward against Steve's. Steve can feel him, hard and wanting, and puts his hands back on Tony's hip bones to keep him flush against him.

Tony starts walking backward, pulling Steve with him, not breaking the kiss while he leads them toward the bedroom. When they get through the door, Steve starts pulling at Tony's shirt, pushing it up his chest, trying to bare that smooth, warm skin.

Tony breaks the kiss to help, pulling the shirt all the way over his head. Steve moves forward, to touch, to kiss, but Tony keeps him at arm's length and starts pulling at Steve's clothes.

“Take off your shirt,” he tells Steve while he works at the buttons of his jeans. Steve has to breathe for a moment when the backs of Tony's fingers brush against his straining cock. He swallows, and moves to pull his shirt over his head while Tony pushes his jeans down off his hips.

Steve remembers, too late, that he's wearing his tacky American flag boxers, the ones an old boyfriend had bought him for a joke, and ducks his head.

“Fuck, you even make _those_ look good,” Tony huffs out, half laughing, but with a twinkle in his eye that steals away any derision in the words.

“I wasn't exactly expecting anyone to see them,” Steve reminds him, stepping forward. “Why, what's on _your_ underwear?”

Tony raises his arms out to the side in welcoming invitation, and Steve takes it, making short work of the fastenings of Tony's jeans and pushing them down over his hips, to reveal – bare skin. A hot, hard cock, jutting straight out from Tony's body, as though trying to reach for Steve.

Steve lets out a strained breath.

Tony grins. “Not wearing any.”

Steve steps forward and lets his body press against Tony's, a shiver going through him at the feel of Tony's skin against his. He can feel Tony's cock on his thigh, rigid and thick.

“You given any thought to that top or bottom question?” Tony asks him huskily.

“I don't – which do you...?”

Tony looks up at him through dark eyelashes with a low voice. “I generally don't mind either, but if I'm completely honest, I've been obsessed with your ass all night.”

“O-okay,” Steve nods, almost a reflex, leaning down to catch Tony's lips in a kiss.

And as passionate as their kisses have been this evening, this one is somehow deeper. Tony slows it down, so while it's still full of fervour, it's slow and languid, making desire burn low in Steve's belly.

Tony turns them, gently pushing Steve backwards toward the bed, hands roaming over bare skin with just the barest hint of contact. Steve's hands mirror the actions against Tony's skin without thought. Every time he hits a new body part, though, he clutches at it, gripping and squeezing as though trying to take it into himself.

Steve feels the mattress hit the back of his thighs, and Tony's hands rest on the top of his shoulders, gently pushing him down into a sitting position, then back so he falls against the red duvet.

Tony's hands graze his hip reverently, then Tony's over him, hip to hip.

Steve lets out a quiet whine and takes his hands off Tony's belly to push at his boxers.

Tony helps him, and then they're both blessedly naked, sliding up the bed together, mouths still sliding together heatedly.

Tony's hand slides to his hip, his thumb tracing teasing circles around the bone there, tracing the groove where Steve's thigh joins his torso. That thumb lightly grazes the blonde hairs growing there, and Steve has a moment to thank God he'd trimmed everything recently. His hips shift, trying to bring Tony's hand closer to his erection, and the motion brings his cock into contact with Tony's. He breathes in a gasp, and Tony moans into his mouth.

Steve pulls away, to beg, to plead, to encourage, but his words are cut off by Tony's.

“You're fucking gorgeous like this, you know that? Spread out under me, keening for it?” Steve shudders at Tony's whispered praises, one hand clutching the bedding while the other wraps around Tony's lower back, trying to pull him closer.

“I wanna put my mouth on you, just everywhere, you taste so good,” Tony murmurs, trailing open-mouthed kisses down Steve's neck. Steve breathes, and moans, and shifts his hips, wrapped in Tony's words.

Tony's mouth moves lower, tongue flicking at one pink nipple. He puffs air across it and watches it pucker for him. “You're so sensitive, too,” he says. “Oh, we're going to have so much fun, you and me.”

“You always such a fucking tease?” Steve strains out, and Tony laughs, the warm air floating across Steve's nipple again.

Tony looks up at him, sliding down, meets his eye. “I think I like getting you riled up,” he says, warm air caressing Steve's cock. “I wanna make you lose your mind.”

“You –” Steve's retort is broken off into a quiet gasp as Tony's tongue licks at the skin beside his sac, thumbs tracing patterns on the inside of Steve's thighs while he gently pushes them apart, baring more of Steve to him. Steve feels warm air ghost over his perineum, and reaches down to touch Tony, somewhere, anywhere. Tony takes a hand from Steve's hip, links their fingers together, and Steve shudders when Tony's mouth moves lower.

Oh, he hadn't been prepared for this feeling at all. That hot, wet tongue tracing patterns around the rim of his entrance, the puckered skin there trembling in anticipation. But that tongue doesn't enter him, doesn't breach him, and Steve moans as it moves away, moans harder when it slides up the length of his cock, swirling at the head to pick up the bead of precome at the tip.

“Oh my God, you're going to kill me,” he gasps, hand squeezing Tony's in desperation. He feels Tony's chuckle, then soft lips on his belly, under his navel, kissing there now.

“Told you,” Tony says quietly, between kisses. He dips his tongue into the dip of Steve's navel, letting Steve's cock brush against the coarse hair of his goatee. Steve's legs shake, and he stops clutching the sheets with his free hand and goes to card it through Tony's hair, trying to push him closer to his cock.

Tony dodges the hand, pulling his head back but letting his own free hand caress the dips of Steve's abs soothingly. “Tell me what you want.”

Steve lets out a breathless laugh. “You know what I want, Jesus.”

“Say it, baby. Wanna hear you ask for it.”

Steve's surrounded by the heady scent of his own arousal, his face burning but he can't stop himself, he wants Tony's mouth so bad he – “Please, please, your mouth, Tony, let me in,” he gasps, the teasing rasp of Tony's fingertips on the base of his cock both too much and not enough.

And then Tony's mouth is on him, sliding down wetly, slickly, until Steve can feel his cock nudge the back of Tony's throat. Tony's hand holds his hip, holds it down, and Steve thanks any deities who may be listening for that, because it's all that keeps him from thrusting up. Then Tony raises up, that slick slide exposing skin, and back down again, and Steve realizes it's a rhythm but he can't track it, he feels too good, his brain misfiring because Tony's mouth is like fire.

He wants to stop this – wants to lift Tony off his cock, press their mouths together again, touch every inch of him, but he can't. It's too good, too all-consuming. Every time Tony's mouth slides down on him, it goes further. Tony hasn't taken his whole length in, of course not, but he's making a damned good effort and his hand is making up the difference, and Steve knows he's too close, he has to stop Tony now or he won't – “Oh, God, stop, stop, Tony, stop,” he gasps, trying to push Tony's head away. Tony backs off, looking up at him, and the way he looks... pupils dark with desire, lips full, swollen, red, wet. Steve swallows, panting harshly.

“You okay, Handsome?”

“I just – I didn't want to –”

Tony gives him a small, knowing smile. “You could, you know. I don't mind.”

Steve shudders, forcing himself to sit up. He hauls Tony up with him, moves them until they're kneeling together, Steve leaning forward to taste Tony's lips again, his hand wrapping itself around Tony's cock, and he's so hard, silky skin damp at the top where Tony's been leaking from the slit.

“I want you to –” he cuts himself off, he knows he should be able to say it, to ask for what he wants but he's suddenly embarrassed, can't bring himself to _ask_ to get fucked.

But Tony knows what he wants, and pushes him back down to the mattress and reaches for the drawer in the stand beside the bed, pulls it open and pulls out a condom and lubricant.

Tony presses his lips to Steve's, and it's incredibly gentle, soft and wet but almost chaste.

“You're sure, then?” he says, quietly, his thumb tracing Steve's bottom lip as he pulls back just enough to speak.

Steve nods wordlessly.

“Say it out loud for me,” Tony counters, the tip of his thumb dipping into Steve's mouth. Steve licks it with a sigh.

“Yes, I'm sure.”

Tony captures his mouth again with a kiss, tongue delving deep even as Steve can hear the snick of a plastic cap flipping open. The kiss is demanding, and the slick fingertips nudging at his entrance a moment later are gentle, inquisitive. Steve can't help it, his hips shift and he grinds back toward those questing fingers, letting out a long, shuddering moan when one breaches him, feeling that gentle almost-stretch of intrusion.

Another finger, another moan. “You're so hot, baby,” Tony whispers against his lips, fingers not stopping. “So tight inside. Gonna let me in?”

“Yes, yes, yes,” Steve murmurs, fingers clutching Tony's shoulders spasmodically. “Want you.”

“Gorgeous like this,” Tony says, disjointed. “Slick you up, gonna stretch you out,”

“Jesus –”

A third finger, and Steve can't stop shaking, feels like he's going to burst apart, and Tony pulls away, Steve chases him, pulls him back so their mouths are sealed together, and Tony pulls away _again,_ eliciting a whine from Steve.

Tony chuckles, fingers still thrusting gently into Steve's body, and holds up the condom with his free hand. “Just trying to get this on, baby. Wanna fuck you.”

Steve's beyond embarrassment now, knows he should blush at his own need, but he can't bring himself to care. He just knows he needs Tony, this stranger, this gorgeous, sensuous man, to be inside him now.

He deftly snatches the condom out of Tony's hand, ripping the package open and rolling latex down Tony's cock, and Tony's fingers twitch, losing their perfect rhythm, and Tony's eyes flutter closed. Steve feels proud for a moment, that his touch can wring that reaction out of him, but it also causes a shiver of desire in him, somehow turning him on even more.

Then Tony's rolling him over, using his thumbs to pull apart Steve's cheeks, and cool air on Steve's sensitive skin makes him shudder. He pushes his hips up, feels Tony's cock nudging at him, and pushes back.

Stretch, burn, penetration, and Tony's hands reach for his, fingers curling through Steve's own, pressing their palms into the mattress while he sinks all the way in.

“Oh, Gorgeous, I knew you'd be good, so good,” Tony whispers into his ear, pushing forward, flush against Steve's backside, and peppering gentle kisses across Steve's shoulder blades.

It burns, yes, it's been a while, but the stretch is so good, the way Tony's cock is filling him, slick-sliding deep inside, out a little, then back in, hips ratcheting up their rhythm while Steve has to push back, try to keep Tony inside him, not let him go.

Tony thrusts forward a little harder on the next one, and a strangled noise wrenches its way out of Steve's throat, in harmony with a low moan from Tony's.

Steve feels wet, lubricant gliding between them, tacky where their bodies meet.

Tony's thrusts are picking up speed, his hips accelerating, pushing harder, and Steve is crying out with each thrust because the angle has changed, and the head of Tony's cock is skating across his prostate now, each thrust causing white sparks behind his eyes, even though they're closed. Steve opens them, sees Tony's white knuckles, his own between them, pressed into the bedding, and hears Tony's harsh panting in his ear. There are words, he knows, but he can't pick them out of the din – catches the odd one, like 'hot' and 'good' and 'tight' and knows from the timbre of Tony's voice that he's close, worshiping Steve's body with his own.

“Please, please, please,” he hears from himself, the words coming without his approval, but he doesn't care, because Tony is pushing into him harder, and all the air is out of his lungs, he's taking deep gasps, trying to get oxygen because there is nothing but Tony here, nothing but Tony's body in his, over his, around him.

The friction of his cock on the bedding, the feeling of Tony's dark beard rasping against his shoulder, of Tony stretching and filling him and thrusting into him, finally, too soon, pushes him over the edge, and he can feel the blanket beneath him dampen with his release, can feel himself clenching around Tony's cock, and Tony lets out a sound that is not a word, but it is, somehow, hips stuttering but still thrusting, the aftershocks of Tony against his prostate making Steve cry out with each push, until finally, finally Tony slumps over him, hot breath puffing over his spine.

 

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

 

It's early when Steve wakes, and he watches the morning sunlight filter in to glow on Tony's skin. He presses forward with a kiss to Tony's chest before he even thinks about it, or the fact that it will surely wake Tony up.

Tony does wake up with a quick intake of breath. Takes a moment to look around him, eyes settling on Steve. After a moment, he smiles. “Hey. Morning,” he murmurs, voice heavy with sleep. He presses a quick kiss to Steve's temple.

Steve glances down, traces a finger over the scar in the centre of Tony's chest. He'd noticed it, briefly, last night, but he'd been ... distracted.

“What's this from?” he asks.

Tony shrugs a little, but he doesn't tense. “Heart transplant scar.”

Steve looks up at him in shock. “You're joking.”

Tony laughs. “Nope. Congenital heart defect when I was small. Got a new one when I was sixteen.”

Steve presses a gentle kiss to the centre of the scar, and Tony shivers almost imperceptibly.

“That must have been difficult,” Steve says.

Tony shrugs again, stretching. “The difficult part was before. Couldn't do anything. Couldn't even walk up a set of stairs. Afterwards – well, it was a new lease on life, right?”

Steve nods in understanding.

“That's why I took up boxing,” Tony says.

“You box?”

“I used to. Amateur – they wouldn't take me in the pro circuit because of the ticker,” he explains, tapping his sternum a couple of times. “Now I teach boxing and kickboxing.”

“I've never tried it.”

“It's great. Strength, speed, you get to hit stuff.”

Steve laughs, pressing a kiss to Tony's nipple. Tony's shiver is is a little more pronounced this time.

“Ah, shit, I gotta go to work,” Tony grumbles, looking at the clock and moving to get up. “I have an early class.”

“You can't skip it?”

Tony gives him a regretful grin. “Sadly, Gorgeous, I cannot.” He slides out of bed, casually strides across to the bathroom with no thought toward his nakedness.

He's in there for a few minutes, and comes out brushing his teeth, and tosses something on the bed on his way by, out of the room. Steve glances at it, and it's a brand-new toothbrush, in plastic packaging. He tries not to think about how Tony happens to have extra toothbrushes in his bathroom. Tony had said he was... he liked one-night stands. If anything, Steve thinks, a toothbrush is considerate.

Tony comes back into the room, back to the bathroom, and spits out toothpaste. He's back in the bedroom, and pulls work-out pants out of a drawer. Slips them on, hitching them around his waist, and Steve feels his dick harden. Tony gives him a knowing smirk, and pulls a T-shirt on over his head. He leaves the room again, and comes back with two full cups of coffee.

“You take anything in your coffee?”

Steve shakes his head, accepting the mug gratefully.

Tony takes a sip of his own, nodding toward the bathroom.

“Feel free to shower. You can let yourself out when you're ready, just lock the door behind you.” Tony puts his mug down and grabs a hoodie from the floor. Slips into it. “I had fun.”

Steve realizes he's leaving. Already. Shit.

“Wanna have lunch?” he blurts out. His cheeks flush.

Tony smiles back at him, and is that pity?

“Listen, Gorgeous, we talked about this. I don't do lunch,” he says, gently, sitting on the edge of the bed. “You're amazing, you are, but I don't do boyfriends. I do flings.”

Steve feels embarrassed, nods. “I know. I just thought – sorry, that was stupid.”

Tony lifts his chin. “Not stupid,” he says, meeting Steve's eyes. “No regrets, right?”

Steve nods, gives a little smile. “No regrets.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

Tony slips out the door, starts the walk to work. His skin is still thrumming, he can't remember the last time he had sex that good. This guy was a walking God, it's not even _fair_. This even tops the time with that guy Wade and his freaky girlfriend, Emma. The time with the _handcuffs_.

He lets out a shaky breath as he hits the street, taking a slug from his travel mug of coffee.

Quite a stroke of luck, running into Steve on the bridge. Literally. God, the artsy types were always good in bed, but this was different – not that Steve had been particularly skilled. He wasn't a blushing virgin, no, but he wasn't a porn star, either. But his responses, the way he mewled at Tony's every touch, the way he'd been fucking _panting_ for it, for him – Tony took another shaky breath, pulled at the hem of his hoodie to make sure it was hiding the evidence of his growing arousal.

He tried not to think about it – he needed to get a move on.

 

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

 

His first two classes of the morning go by quickly, and he's dripping sweat on his way to the staff locker room for a shower, when Natasha pulls at his arm, seemingly out of nowhere. She hauls him over toward the juice bar.

“I want you to meet somebody,” she says, and is Natasha nervous? Is Natasha 'I will fuck your shit up before breakfast' Romanoff actually nervous?

“Are you _nervous_?” he asks, forgetting himself, and apparently also forgetting he likes having his testicles attached to his body.

“Just shut your mouth, Stark, and come over here.”

He cackles, eager to face death because she _is_. There are two men in front of the juice bar, wearing work-out gear. One of them is facing away from them, with what Tony would describe as an ass to rival the one he plowed last night, and the other has – is that one arm? He doesn't have time to consider it before the taller man turns, grinning, and it's actually Steve.

Steve's face freezes, and Tony can see the grin stiffen, and he does feel bad. This is about to be awkward.

“Tony, this is Bucky Barnes,” Natasha starts, stopping in front of the juice bar. Wanda's not there, she must be on a break.

Tony grins, holds out his right hand for Bucky to shake. Doesn't even look at the empty sleeve where Bucky's left arm would be.

“Tony Stark. So you're the guy our Nat's been mooning over?” He knows he's going to pay, and he doesn't care, because Natasha actually sort of _blushes._ The elbow in his ribcage doesn't feel great, but still, worth it.

“Tony, this is Bucky's friend –”

“We've met,” Tony says smoothly, holding out a hand for Steve to shake anyway. Steve takes it automatically, and Tony lets his thumb brush across Steve's knuckle gently.

Natasha looks back and forth between them, a small frown creasing her brow. Tony sees Steve give a nearly-imperceptible shake of his head, and she backs down.

Wait, really?

“So _anyway_ ,” Natasha says, stepping forward so she's next to Bucky. “I invited Bucky and Steve to come try out the gym.”

Tony nods. “Anything in particular you're looking for?”

“Tasha was going to show me the bikes,” Bucky says, grinning widely at Steve. “Stevie, didn't you say you wanted to try a boxing class?”

“I don't recall saying that at all,” Steve says tightly.

“It's no problem,” Tony says. “I actually have a beginner class after lunch. I was going to go have a snack and a steam.”

“You like steam, don't you, Stevie?”

Tony's mouth purses, and he bites the inside of his cheek to keep from grinning. Clearly Steve had told his friend Bucky about last night, and obviously Bucky had figured out that Tony had been the guy who'd rocked Steve's world. Tony can already tell he 's going to like the cheeky bastard.

Steve's cheeks go red. “I was gonna hit the pool, actually,” he says, crossing his arms. Tony watches, enjoying the way the movement makes Steve's biceps ripple.

“Sure, sure,” Tony says, waving a hand nonchalantly. “Then steam after. Maybe I'll see you in there. Either way, class is at one thirty. I'll see you then.”

“I don't – maybe,” Steve stammers as Tony turns away and heads for the staff locker room. He's just going to quickly wipe down, then run down to the snack bar.

He doesn't know why he swings by the pool on his way downstairs. He doesn't even go through the doors onto the deck, he just peeks through the window, and sees Steve swimming. The pool is busy, but how could he not notice _that_ body. Steve's slicing through the water, a strong, streamlined freestyle. Tony watches the muscles in his back ripple with each stroke, then backs away from the door.

He doesn't _usually_ sleep with the same person more than once, but he's not _opposed_ to it. Repeated fucking doesn't mean dating, so he wouldn't be breaking his own rule as long as they both know it's just sex, right? Right. So, a little harmless flirting. And then hopefully, a repeat performance of last night.

Tony swallows, a little thickly. Yeah, this is going to be great.

 

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

 

Tony eats, and then he goes to the steam room. It's empty when he sits down, but after only a few minutes the door opens. Once the haze clears, Tony is pleased to see that it's Steve who's entered.

“Hey, Gorgeous,” he smiles, and he knows it's almost predatory. “How was your swim?”

“It was good,” Steve answers. He sounds almost nervous. But he knew Tony was going to the steam room, and he's come anyway, so Tony takes it as a good sign.

Steve sits on the bench just to the right of Tony's knee, one step down. Steve's taller than him by a few inches, but the steps are much taller than that so Tony has to look down at him. Steve doesn't meet his eye for a moment, then he does.

“Is this weird?” he asks. “It feels weird.”

Tony chuckles at him, shifting down so he's sitting next to Steve, knees brushing against one another. Tony leans back. “Doesn't have to be weird,” he says with a shrug. “Sex feels good, right?” he doesn't wait for an answer. “We made each other feel good. What's weird about that?”

Steve glances away, toward the floor.

“You had fun, right?” Tony asks, brushing a thumb on Steve's lips. He sees Steve give a full body shiver, and has to work very hard to keep from tenting his towel.

“Yeah,” Steve breathes. God, it's sexy.

“We could have fun again,” Tony says, shifting closer, liking the way Steve's pupils dilate when they snap back go meet his gaze.

“Right here?” And Steve sounds scandalized, of course, but Tony can see the pulse jump in his throat, and he files that away for later.

“Can't lock this door,” he says. “Safety feature. But there's a staff locker room we can lock.” Tony lets his thumb dip in between Steve's slack lips, into the wet heat of his mouth, and Steve lets out a breath.

“Can we – we can go, we can,” he whispers, eyes roaming over Tony's face.

“Still the same deal, though,” Tony reminds him. “This is sex. We can make each other feel good, because you moan so pretty, but it won't be more.” He doesn't know why he feels the need to say it aloud again. Maybe because he doesn't usually sleep with someone more than once. He's a little off kilter. His fingertips trace the top of Steve's towel, brushing along above his hip.

“I know,” he says after a moment, with a swallow. Tony stands, glances down at them both, and chuckles.

“Got something to hold in front of you?” he asks with a grin. He waves a hand down to where both of their cocks are straining against their towels. Steve's face turns red, and he shakes his head.

“Don't worry about it,” Tony says, grabbing his hand and opening the door. He reaches out toward the shelf next to the door with extra towels, and hands a handful to Steve, and takes one for himself. He balls it up and holds it to his belly, making sure it hides his erection, then jerks his chin toward the end of the hall. “Locker room's this way.”

When they reach the door, Tony pokes his head in first. The room is empty – it's a good time of day for this, honestly. Most everyone is out for lunch. Still, he feels like the gods are smiling down on him, and he drags Steve in by the hand and closes the door behind them. He puts a hand on Steve's chest, in the centre, and pushes him against the back of the door, grinding his hips forward. He leans up so their lips are almost touching, then makes a show of turning the deadbolt with a heavy 'click'.

Steve is breathing hard already. Tony lets his lips brush against Steve's, just barely, the hint of a touch. Steve lets out a breath and leans in, hands on Tony's elbows to keep him close, and presses their mouths together.

Tony lets his hands roam over damp, sweaty skin, the slip-slide of it sensuous in a way he hadn't really expected. Steve's fingers dig through his hair, and his palms close on either side of Tony's face, clutching and keeping Tony still so he can deepen the kiss. As Steve's tongue invades his mouth, Tony's hips press forward, grinding his cock against Steve's thigh.

He feels Steve's answering erection near the top of his hip, and feels a groan creak out of his chest.

Then he's being pushed back, Steve's hands still on his face, walking him backward until Tony feels his back hit the wall behind them, farthest from the door. Then Steve's hands slide down his neck, over his chest, flicking a nipple on their way down to the top of his towel, pulling at it so it falls to the floor. Those hands keep sliding, down his hips to scrape blunt nails on the front of his thighs, and Tony lets out a full moan, breaking the kiss to gasp in a lungful of air, head lolling back to hit the wall.

“Jesus,” he breathes. Last night was amazing, but today – today Steve is _aggressive_.

Then Steve's on his knees, and his hot, wet mouth is swallowing him down, nearly to the root, and Tony's knees almost buckle.

But Steve's strong, tender hands are holding his hips against the wall, and it keeps him standing.

Tony runs his fingers through Steve's hair – not to pull or push, but just to touch. Steve lets out a deep, satisfied moan, and Tony's hips try to stutter forward of their own accord. Steve's head bobs up and down, his tongue swirling with each pull, cheeks hollowed out as he sucks Tony down, and Tony feels his cock get harder, hard enough to cut glass.

“God, you suck cock like a champ,” he whispers, sliding one hand down Steve's face so he can rub at his stretched bottom lip with one thumb. Steve whimpers around him, and the vibration is perfect. Steve's eyes open and he looks up at Tony through dark eyelashes.

“Should have had you do this last night,” Tony says, swallowing. “Should have put you on my cock and fucked your mouth.” He almost doesn't even know what he's saying, just wants to talk to Steve, tell him how good this feels. “You're so good, you're so sweet on your knees for me.”

Steve's whimper this time is a higher pitch, and his head bobs a little out of rhythm.

“You like having me in your mouth?” Tony doesn't expect an answer, but Steve moans again, and Tony shivers. “I'm close, baby, you're so good. I wish I had condoms here so I could fuck you again. You were so tight around me, you felt so good.”

Then Steve's mouth is popping off with an obscene sound, his hand wrapping around Tony's dick and stroking a hard, fast rhythm, hand squeezing just tight enough, and Tony feels a low cry pull out of his throat as his orgasm rushes over him, and he watches his come splatter Steve's chest, Steve's dark, lust-filled eyes meeting his.

When he's spent, he slides down the wall, presses his mouth to Steve's swollen lips, and chuckles low in his belly at the sound of Steve's needy keen.

“You're so hot,” Tony whispers against his lips, pushing Steve back to lay on the floor. “The things you do to me – I can feel how much you want me on your _skin_ ,” he murmurs.

Steve doesn't speak, just thrusts his hips up toward air, seeking friction.

Tony runs a hand over the mess on Steve's chest, then wraps that hand, slick with his own semen, around Steve's cock. It's straining for his touch, and it pulses in his hand, a drop of precome leaking from the tip. Steve lets out a strangled cry, and Tony sets a hard rhythm. He licks a finger, coating it with saliva, and reaches back toward Steve's entrance, just brushing over the pucker there, and suddenly Steve's orgasm crashes over him, his cock pulsating in Tony's hand.

And Tony knows it was just a quick blow job and a couple of hand jobs, and it shouldn't have been nearly as hot as it was. He knows that.

Still.

He runs both hands up Steve's chest, spreading their mixed come across Steve's skin, while Steve sucks air into his lungs.

“I'm a mess,” Steve finally says, a low chuckle in his throat.

“You look debauched,” Tony says. “You look amazing.”

Steve shivers, and Tony could swear his cock gives a little jump, trying to rally. Tony grins, and moves to stand. He hauls Steve up with him, and leads him toward the showers.

He pulls Steve under the warm spray, filling his hand with a couple of pumps from the soap dispenser and stroking over Steve's skin. He lathers him gently, admiring flesh, and a pleased hum vibrates in his throat when Steve starts doing the same for them.

It's sensual, but it's also gentle. Steve's hands move over his skin reverently, strong thumbs pressing over tight muscle.

But it can't last forever, so Tony pushes them back under the spray to rinse, reaching up for a gentle kiss.

Then he steps back, and holds out a towel for Steve.

“So. You still wanna try boxing?” He raises an eyebrow smugly, and Steve chuffs out a soft laugh.

“I'm actually having trouble feeling my legs. I don't think today's the day for boxing.”

Tony laughs, moves to his locker and pulls out an extra pair of work out shorts. They're baggy on him, so they fit Steve okay. He hands him a tank top, too, and puts on his own work out clothes.

“Can we – I know you don't want a relationship, and I'm fine with that,” Steve says carefully. “But can we keep... you know?”

Tony turns and meets Steve's eye, challenging. “I know, what?”

Steve rolls his eyes. “I'm just saying, we could keep hooking up. If you wanted.”

Tony smiles.

It's probably a bad idea. He knows that – most people struggle with the idea of sex without emotion, thinking there has to be a relationship for there to be intimacy. Tony knows that's not true. He hopes Steve knows it, too.

He pulls his phone out of his locker, hits the touch screen a couple of times, then hands it to Steve. It's the start of a text message. The message content says “hey gorgeous,” and he's tapped into the address field.

“Punch your number in. Then you'll have mine, and you can text me next time you wanna get laid,” he says with a shrug. “If I'm free, we can get together.”

Steve taps into the phone, and hands it back. Tony puts it back in his locker and steps forward, pressing a chaste kiss to Steve's lips.

“Now, Gorgeous, I've got a boxing class to try and get through.” Steve chuckles at him, and Tony unlocks the door.

It swings open – it's Clint. He looks at Tony, then over at Steve. He rolls his eyes.

“I see Natasha introduced you to her boyfriend and his friend,” Clint grins. “You sure don't waste any time.”

“Shut up, Clint,” Tony says with a glare, ushering Steve out the door. He can see the embarrassed flush creeping up Steve's neck, and shoots another glare in Clint's direction for good measure.

Clint laughs as the door swings shut.

 

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

 

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

 

Steve doesn't wait for Bucky before he goes home. He feels like he wants to crawl out of his skin – he's embarrassed, feels humiliated, and he can't wait to do it again.

Tony is... Tony is pure sex. Every touch is like the first one, and Tony's hands, mouth, body, everything, can get him ramped up like he has no free will.

He loves it.

He can probably do this without emotion. He can if he has to. Yes, he prefers to be in a relationship, he doesn't usually like casual sex. It feels hollow, like he might as well be masturbating.

Except not with Tony. With Tony, it's magnificent.

It'll be fine.

 

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

 

Bucky doesn't say anything to him when he gets home. Steve is grateful – he knows Bucky will tease him eventually, but he's more than happy to put it off.

Bucky orders a pizza, and they eat it while they watch the ball game on TV. Half way through the fourth inning, it starts.

“So. How'd you like Tash's gym?”

Steve gives him a glare. “The gym was nice.”

“What'd you think of her... friends?”

“They seem nice.” He arches an eyebrow.

“I mean, you only met a couple of them. I met a couple more after, when you disappeared after your swim.”

“I went to the steam room.”

“Funny... I checked the steam room. There were a few people in there, and you weren't one of 'em.”

Steve grins at him.

“I found something else to do after.”

Bucky crows with laughter. “I knew it! You went off with that guy, didn't you?”

“Of course I did. Did you _see_ him?”

Bucky shrugs. “I guess, if you're into compact little hardbodies with facial hair.”

Steve grins. “Turns out I am.”

Bucky laughs again. “So when are you seeing him again?”

“I dunno,” Steve says, stomach clenching for some reason he can't fathom.

“What do you mean you don't know? I didn't misread that, right? That's the guy you met up with last night that you told me about? The reason you didn't come home until this morning?”

“Well, yeah,” Steve starts.

“So that's two dates, Stevie. You're grinning from ear to ear, don't tell me you didn't make a third date.”

“Well, we're not exactly dating.”

Bucky's face stills, the smile freezing. “What do you mean you're not dating? Is he not single? Stevie –”

“No, no, it's fine. It's just... we're keeping it casual.”

Bucky narrows his eyes. “You don't do casual, Stevie.”

“Sure I do.”

“Steve, you do not. Your shortest relationship has literally been two years.”

Steve scrubs a hand over his face. He can tell Bucky doesn't approve, and it raises his hackles. “I'm trying something new. It'll be fine.”

Bucky looks at him for another moment, then shrugs, shaking his head and turning his head back to the television. “If you say so.”

Steve fidgets, takes a drink from his Coke, and nods decisively. It'll be fine.

 

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

 

He texts Tony after the game.

_Hey, you doin anything tmrw?_

_Hey gorgeous. Tomorrow's my afternoon off. Wanna come over?_

_I can do that. What's a good time?_

_2? 2:30?_

_OK, I'm flexible._

_That's good to hear. ;)_

_I swear I didn't mean it like that._

_I'll take it anyway._

Steve puts his phone down and watches the post-game for a while. He tries not to bounce his knee. He knows he shouldn't be excited, but he is. It's not a date, obviously, it's a booty call. Or booty text. Whatever, he wants it.

He grabs his phone again.

_I am, though. You know, flexible._

_Oh yeah?_

_Yeah. I do yoga sometimes._

_Think you can stay in dolphin while I fuck you?_

Steve swallows heavily, feels a flush creep up his cheeks. He very carefully doesn't look toward the other end of the couch, where Bucky is sitting.

 _Worth a try,_ he taps out.

_Could probably swing 1:30. Need address again?_

Steve grins to himself, types out one last message.

_I'm OK, I have a good memory. See you then._

 

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

 

As it happens, Steve _can_ stay in dolphin pose and get fucked at the same time.

 

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

 

Afterward, Tony drags him into the shower quickly to wash the sweat and sex off them, and they wash each other gently. It's slower, more thorough than the day before at the gym, but they're alone here, with no worries someone's going to barge in on them, so Steve is more than happy to take their time.

“I need a nap,” Tony announces while they're drying off. Steve shivers a little at the feel of the towel scraping the stubble burn he didn't know was on the inside of his thigh until just this moment.

“I can go –”

Tony rolls his eyes and gives Steve's butt a playful swat. “I may not do the boyfriend thing, but I'm not a total asshole. You've spent the night here before, you can stay for a nap.”

Steve blushes a little, but shrugs and follows Tony back into the bedroom.

It's awkward, though. Tony lays on his stomach, face turned away from him, and honestly Steve's not that tired. He feels energized, like he could run a marathon. He can't help fidgeting, and eventually Tony rolls back over with a groan and pushes himself up the headboard, giving Steve a pointed look.

Steve bites his lip. “Sorry.”

Tony glances at his mouth, and his lip quirks up in a smile. “It's fine. You're not tired, you're not tired.”

“Seriously, if you really want a nap, I can go.”

Tony shrugs. “Nah, I'm fine. So tell me about your friend Bucky.”

The track of the conversation switches so quickly, it takes Steve a moment to check in. “Buck? He's a good guy. He's real good to Natasha.”

Tony rolls his eyes. “Believe me, I am _not_ worried about Natasha.”

Steve's brow furrows. “I thought she was your friend.”

“She is. But she can take care of herself.”

“Well, sure, but if she's your friend, you shouldn't be okay with her getting hurt.”

“You saying Bucky's going to hurt her?”

“Well, _no,_ obviously, of course not. He really likes her.”

“Well then what are we talking about?”

“I don't know, you brought it up!”

Tony rubs at his face with both hands. “Shit, I should have had a nap.”

Steve laughs at him.

“Tell me about his arm, then,” Tony says with a shrug, dropping his hands. Steve is surprised – it's pretty rare for people to just come out and say something about Bucky's arm. Usually they dance around it, stare a bit, and never ask.

Steve thinks about it for a minute, decides Bucky won't mind. “Car accident. Couple years ago.”

Tony's face takes on a concerned look. “That's too bad.”

“Yeah, he was on his bike. Training. Didn't see it coming.”

“Training for what?”

“Nationals. He was on track for the Olympics, for road cycling.”

“Jesus.”

“Hit him pretty hard. Natasha's been really good for him. He tends to get stuck in his own head, you know?”

“Must have been hard. To give up his dream like that.”

Steve nods, leaning forward and wrapping his arms around his knees. “Yeah. It's been tough, but he's doing okay.”

“So how did he and Nat meet?”

Steve grins. “A cooking class.”

“No. No way did Natasha Romanoff take a cooking class.”

Steve's grin gets wider. “It's true.”

Tony goddamned _giggles_. “Oh, this is _gold_.”

Steve takes a quick breath, because Tony's smile lights up the whole room.

 

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

 

“Want something to eat, Gorgeous?” Tony asks, head popping up from behind the door of the refrigerator, as he grabs a couple of bottles of water. He tosses one underhand to Steve, who pops the cap off and takes a deep drink.

“No, you don't have to –” Steve's attempt to decline is interrupted when his stomach makes a loud growling sound.

Tony winks at him. “S'okay, I could use a snack.” He pulls a package of strawberries out of the fridge, and a container of Cool Whip. Steve follows him back to the bed. He's slipped back into his underwear – he's wearing plain navy ones, boxer briefs that he knows accentuate his ass. This afternoon's tryst was planned, he wasn't coming back over in his American flag ones.

Remembers when Tony undressed him, the small pout at their plainness.

Tony sits crosslegged on the bed, opening the clamshell packaging of the strawberries, and Steve comes to sit beside him. Tony holds out a berry for him, and Steve goes to reach for it – Tony pulls it away, arches an eyebrow, and holds it closer to Steve's lips.

Steve gets the hint, and he lets Tony pop the strawberry into his mouth. Tony's fingertips brush his lips, and Steve chews slowly.

When he swallows, Tony holds a fingerful of the whipped cream out to him. Steve grins, and sucks the digit into his mouth, tongue swirling to clean the cream from Tony's skin.

Tony licks his lips, eyes darkening. Steve plucks a strawberry from the container, dips it into the cream, and holds it up for Tony. Tony uses his mouth, letting his hand slide up Steve's thigh, and proceeds to lick Steve's fingers clean.

Steve leans in for a kiss, and Tony doesn't withhold. Steve tastes cream, the juicy berry, and Tony's own natural taste.

Tony breaks away and pulls out another strawberry, this time tracing Steve's lips with it, dipping it into his mouth just a little, and then pulling it back. Steve follows his hand, leaning forward, snatching the berry with his teeth.

Tony leans in and nips at Steve's chin. Steve shivers, chewing.

He swallows, and Tony presses forward for a kiss. The strawberries are forgotten for a while.

 

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

 

“Jesus, is it really that late?” Steve groans, turning away from the clock beside Tony's bed. Tony chuckles at him, pressing a kiss to Steve's shoulder.

“You spending the night, Gorgeous?”

Steve tenses. “I don't have to.”

Tony shrugs. “I don't mind. Long as you remember –”

“Christ, I remember. Must think pretty highly of yourself, to assume I can't just be in it for the sex, too,” Steve interrupts him. There's no real heat to his words, though. He makes sure it sounds teasing.

Tony shrugs. “Not everyone can handle it.”

“I can,” Steve tells him.

“Okay,” Tony nods. “So. You spending the night?” Tony lets a hand drift up Steve's flank, and Steve wonders if he can possibly rally and go for round four.

Tony's fingers trail down his spine, drifting between his buttocks, still a little slick from the last time.

And Steve finds that, while he didn't think it possible, he can go again.

 

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

 

In the middle of the night, Tony wakes. Steve is sleeping beside him, drooling a little on the pillow. His face is slack, smooth.

Tony's gripped by the sudden need to touch him, so he does. Trails a hand from his cheek, down his throat, his chest, all the way to his knee. He really is magnificent. Muscles obviously hard-won, skin smooth and golden. Lips full and pouty. A little swollen from their activities, and it's sexy.

Tony's hand is back up to Steve's hip when blue eyes flutter open, and Tony captures his mouth in a kiss.

This time is different than the others. It's soft, and slow, and gentle. Tony moves over Steve's body with purpose, gently nudging his way inside.

“You open up for me so nice,” he whispers in Steve's ear, then pulls back for a kiss.

Steve's breath hitches, and when Tony's orgasm comes, it crests over him like a slow wave. He reaches between them and gives Steve his release, Tony's name falling from his lips.

 


	3. Chapter 3

_I had fun last night._

Tony glances at his phone, stripping off his sweaty shirt in front of his locker. Quickly types out a responding text.

_Well, you did come five times._

_And it was fun._

_How are you even walking today?_ Tony snickers as he hits 'send'.

_I have no idea. We should do it again soon._

Tony knows he should say no. But Steve _said_ he could handle it being just sex.

_I have a pretty full couple days._

_Oh, okay. No problem._

Tony sighs. Knows he shouldn't, but he _wants_ to, and Tony tends to do what he wants.

_I could be persuaded to free up my schedule on Saturday. ;)_

_I can do Saturday. But during the day, I have a thing at night._

_A thing?_

_Gallery thing. It's no big deal. You could come if you wanted._

Tony feels like that might be crossing a line.

_We'll see._

 

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

 

To Tony's surprise, Steve walks into his beginner's kickboxing class that afternoon. He raises an eyebrow, but doesn't say anything. He takes the class through a few basic moves, moves into patterns. Can't keep his eyes from sliding over Steve's form, watching the raw power as muscles shift with each bounce. How his whole back ripples with strength with each punch.

After the class, Tony starts cleaning up. Steve takes his time getting his stuff together, so he's the last student in the room.

Tony moves toward him, getting really close into his space, so their bodies are almost touching, but not quite. He's torn between feeling angry Steve's come to his class, and pleased about it at the same time.

“Hey, Gorgeous.”

Steve looks down at him, bites the inside of his lip.

“How'd you like the class?”

Steve takes a breath. “It was good. You're a good teacher.”

“We're still keeping it casual, right?”

Steve clenches his jaw. “I'm here because I wanted to try kickboxing. We're still just fucking.”

Tony holds his gaze a moment longer, then steps back, posture relaxing. Feels slightly aroused by the fire in Steve's eyes. “Good. So, did you like kickboxing?”

Steve rolls his eyes, hitches his gym bag over his shoulder. “It was all right.”

“You're very graceful. Quick learner, too.”

Steve raises an eyebrow, then turns to leave the room. He casts a glance over his shoulder as he goes. “I'm going for a swim.”

Tony clenches his teeth to keep from suggesting they hit the steam room after.

 

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

 

Tony texts Steve late on Saturday morning.

_What are you wearing?_

He's pleasantly surprised when he receives, instead of a text back, a photo Steve's taken of himself, grinning, shirtless. The way the photo's cropped means Tony can't tell if he's wearing pants or not, so he decides to assume not. He takes a picture of the bulge in his pants and sends it through.

Grins at the text that comes a moment later.

_I'm coming over._

 

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

 

When Steve walks in the door, he's only slightly out of breath. Tony's in the middle of pouring himself a glass of juice, holds up an empty glass and waggles it in invitation.

“Sure,” Steve says, sliding onto a stool at Tony's breakfast bar.

Tony places the glass of juice on the countertop, and spins the stool so Steve is facing him.

“Hey, Gorgeous,” he says, placing a hand on each of Steve's knees and pushing them wide apart, leaning forward so his chest meets the taller man's.

“Hey,” Steve breathes.

Tony kisses him, hands slowly sliding up and down Steve's thighs.

He loses himself in the kiss for a while, just enjoying the soft slide of Steve's tongue against his. After a while, it turns rougher, and he swallows Steve's little moans, his own hands clenching the thick muscles in Steve's legs. He lets his thumbs rub tantalizing little circles high on the inside of Steve's thighs, and is rewarded with a low whine.

He moves his hands to undo Steve's fly, and Steve lifts his hips helpfully. Tony grins into their kiss, pushes Steve's shirt up and pulls back to pull it all the way off. Steve stands up off the stool, his own hands working at Tony's clothes. Tony starts walking backward, and as they strip each other they make their way to the bedroom. Tony drags Steve over him on the bed, winding his arms around Steve's neck.

Steve's hips grind down, their cocks sliding together deliciously.

“So, Gorgeous, I was thinking,” Tony says, his voice a little strained as Steve continues his movements.

“Thinking?” he murmurs against Tony's neck. “Why would you wanna go and do something stupid like that?”

Tony snorts, giving Steve's nipple a quick pinch. It elicits a gasp and a jerk of his hips that Tony reminds himself to explore later.

“Yes, thinking. I was thinking, here I've been taking so much time getting to know that lovely ass of yours –” he gives it a squeeze, here, just to make sure Steve's following along “– that I've been completely neglecting the fact that I could have that gorgeous cock in mine.”

Steve stops moving altogether, and Tony can feel his breathing go ragged before he hears it.

“Could be convinced,” Steve murmurs, pulling back to meet Tony's eyes. Tony reaches up under the pillow beside him, comes back with a tube of lubricant and a condom, grinning.

“Convinced? My ass is magnificent. Look at it!”

Steve shimmies against him. “We'll see. I can't form a proper opinion without all the data.”

“Smart mouth. Find something better to do with it,” Tony challenges, pushing his hips up pointedly.

Steve takes the lube from his hand and starts kissing his way down Tony's body, wet, open-mouthed ones that make little sipping sounds all the way down. Tony lets out a sigh of pleasure as Steve's mouth takes his cock in, slowly sliding down as he opens the cap and pours the slick on his fingers.

Tony widens his legs, pulling his heels in and raising his knees so Steve can have better access. A finger traces his opening, and Tony pushes back toward it. In, to the first knuckle, and Tony hisses at the feeling. It's not enough to stretch, not yet, it's just the feeling of intrusion. He pushes back, feels Steve's finger slide in a little further, feels his cock give a little pulse in Steve's mouth.

Tony closes his eyes, lets himself be surrounded by the sensations.

A second finger, soon enough, and there's that stretch, that little bit of burn. He takes a shaky breath and lets it out in a heavy huff. “I won't break,” he tells Steve.

Steve pulls off his cock, grinning up at him. “Don't tell me how to do my job,” he says, and Tony barks a soft laugh.

“You're right, Gorgeous, you're doing fine. You keep doing what you're doing. Keep in mind, I'm really, _really_ looking forward to getting fucked by you.”

That does it – the two fingers inside him thrust in, the full length of them, and Tony groans.

“That's it, Gorgeous.”

The fingers scissor and pump in him, every once in a while nudging over his prostate, and Tony can feel his breath speed up. Then there's a third finger slipping in.

“How do you want to do this?” Steve asks, pressing a kiss to Tony's hip, plunging his fingers in and out faster.

“Fast,” Tony growls, shoving back against Steve's hand.

Steve chuckles, but it devolves into a groan when Tony lets out a little gasp.

“You ready for me?” Steve asks, and Tony moans.

“Fuck, yes, I'm ready. Just stick your dick in.”

Then Steve's fingers are gone, and he's pushing at Tony's shoulder, rolling him over onto his front. He pulls at Tony's hips, bringing Tony up to his hands and knees. Tony goes with it because he can tell by the way Steve's moving that this is going to be a little on the rough side, and he knows this position will be the easiest for it.

Plus, this way, Steve can get better leverage.

He hears the condom wrapper, the sound of the latex being spread over Steve's cock, then the head of it is nudging in, past the tight ring of muscle, and sliding carefully, but quickly, all the way in.

“Oh, fuck, you're even bigger than you look,” Tony gasps, half on a laugh.

Steve chuckles at him. “That's just 'cause you're tight as a vise.”

Tony pushes back, trembling.

“You're talking too much, you need to be fucking me,” Tony says, pushing back again. Steve's fingers tighten on his hips, and then he pushes forward, starting up a steady rhythm.

“You talk when you fuck me all the time,” he says, but it comes out stilted.

Tony moans, knuckles whitening as he grips the sheets. His answer is lost as his elbows give out and he drops his chest to the mattress, ass still sticking up in the air.

Steve's thumbs pull his cheeks apart, and he hears the groan in Steve's chest reverberate throughout the room. He knows Steve's watching his cock disappear into Tony's body, wishes he could see it, too.

Steve's thrusts speed up, and Tony wraps his hand around his cock, tugging it in time with Steve's hips.

“You close, Tony? Jesus, tell me you're close,” Steve says, and Tony nods, enveloped in the sound of flesh smacking against flesh.

Steve hits his prostate once, twice, and Tony cries out on the third, come spurting up onto his chest, dribbling over his fingers.

He hears Steve gasp quietly behind him, feels bruising pressure on his hips from Steve's hands, shudders as Steve grinds his cock deeper somehow, pressing on his overly sensitive prostate, and somehow the aftershocks are almost as strong as the orgasm was.

They collapse in a tangled heap on the bed.

“Gorgeous, you do _not_ disappoint,” Tony pants.

Steve kisses his shoulder and says nothing.

 

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

 

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

 

Steve stalks in the door, and Bucky's right behind him.

“You gonna tell me what the fuck is wrong with you?” Bucky says, tossing his keys in the dish on the table. “Because I've had it up to here with whatever is going on with you tonight.”

“What are you talking about? I'm fine,” Steve says, going straight for the fridge and pulling a beer out. He takes a long drink, not quite meeting Bucky's eye.

“You have been talking about this show for weeks. You sold several pieces tonight, Steve. You should be on Cloud fucking Nine. But you're pouting.”

“I'm not _pouting_.”

“You have a serious 'kicked-puppy' thing going on right now, it's wholly unattractive.”

“I told you, I'm fine. It was a good show, it went well.”

Bucky glares at him for a moment, studying him. Steve glances away.

“Did you invite Tony to this thing?” Bucky asks him after a moment, eyes narrowing.

“We're not dating.”

“That's not what I asked you.”

Steve sighs and flops down on the couch, taking another swig of his beer.

“You did,” Bucky accuses. “You did ask him, and he said no.”

“He didn't say no.”

“So he said yes, and flaked?”

“No, he didn't say yes, either.”

Bucky sits down next to him, eyebrows raised.

Steve sighs. “I told him about it, he said maybe, and then he didn't come.”

“And you were hoping he would.”

“Well, sure. I like being around him.”

“Stevie, I don't like this.”

“It's not about you. We're having fun.”

“This? This is not fun, Steve. This is obviously more than just fun to you.”

“It's fine, Buck. I swear.” Steve drains his beer and stands up to leave the room.

“He's walking all over you,” Bucky calls after him. “It's sick and twisted. You gotta stop.”

Steve stops, but doesn't turn around. “Bucky, I told you. It's fine. _I'm_ fine.”

He goes to his room, and closes the door. It's not quite a slam, but it's close.

 

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

 

“Hey, you had that art thing the other night, didn't you?” Tony asks him, once they've caught their breath. Tony pulls the sheet up over them. “How'd that go?”

Steve pushes himself up to sit up against the headboard, and Tony presses a kiss to his hip.

“It was good,” he says, trying to keep his voice light.

Tony glances up at him with a smile. “Did you sell anything?”

“Yeah, a couple pieces.”

“That's good, then,” Tony says, scooting himself up the bed as well and reaching over for his tablet. He starts flipping through news sites and emails.

“You hear this? About this kid who saved her parents from that car accident?” Tony holds the tablet up for Steve.

Steve squints, moving his head back and forth to try and get the text to focus.

Tony watches him for a moment, eyes narrowing.

Steve sighs in defeat. “I can't see that, Tony.”

A slow smile spreads across Tony's face. “Oh, I knew you had to have a flaw,” he says, licking his lips.

Steve rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. I wear reading glasses. So what?”

“Do you have them with you?”

Steve shrugs. “They're in my coat pocket.”

“Go.”

“What?”

“Go get them.”

“It's okay, I don't need to read it.”

“Go get them.”

“Tony, I said it's fine.”

“Gorgeous. Go get your glasses. I'm not budging on this.”

Steve lets out an annoyed sigh and slides out of the bed, padding naked into the kitchen where his coat is draped over the back of a chair. He pulls the case out and takes it with him back to Tony's bedroom.

He tosses the case on the bed and crawls back under the blanket with an exaggerated shiver.

Tony pounces on the case and opens it, pulling out a pair of thick-rimmed glasses. He grins and folds them open, pushing them toward Steve's face.

Steve chuckles, pulling his head away. “What are you doing?”

“Put 'em on, Gorgeous.”

Steve rolls his eyes, snatches his glasses out of Tony's hand, and pushes them on. He gives Tony a glare, and Tony waggles his eyebrows.

“See, now you look like a sexy librarian.”

Steve laughs, and reaches out to give Tony's ribs a tweak. Tony gasps and twists away, laughing.

“God, it's like I'm fucking Harry Potter,” he laughs.

“Ha ha,” Steve says sarcastically. “I'll have you know, I'm much more attractive than Harry Potter.”

“That, you are,” Tony grins, leaning in for a kiss. It starts as a chaste peck, but it quickly morphs into something more heated.

“You really think I can go again so soon?” Steve asks him, pulling away for an moment. Tony's hand wraps around the back of his neck and pulls him back.

“I think we can work our way up to it. Worth a shot.”

Tony nips at Steve's lip, and Steve lets out a light gasp. He reaches up to take his glasses off.

“Oh, you can leave 'em on, Gorgeous,” Tony says with a grin. His hand trails down Steve's chest to start working on bringing his cock to hardness. “Turns out I might have developed a fetish.”

“For reading glasses?”

“When we're done here, I'm taking a picture of you wearing them, for the spank bank.”

Steve chuckles into the next kiss.

 

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

 

Sometimes, after they've had sex, they talk. Tony tells Steve about how he'd gone to MIT, but he didn't finish his degree. When Steve asks why, Tony shrugs. “I lost my parents. Car accident. I dropped out, and I just never went back.”

“I'm sorry.”

“It was a long time ago.”

“I – not to be that guy, but I lost my parents, too.”

“Oh. That's too bad. Accident?”

“No. No, my dad died when I was just little. He was deployed to Somalia. Mom got sick when I was a teenager. I actually went to live with Bucky's family until I turned 18.”

“That's rough. You were so young.”

Steve shrugs a little. “Yeah, but... I don't know that it changes anything, no matter how old you are.”

Tony's fingers trace a light pattern on his shoulder, but he doesn't say anything.

 

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

 

A few nights later, Steve can't sleep. Tony is passed out beside him, but he's been laying awake for more than a couple of hours now, and he's pretty sure he's going to accidentally wake Tony up if he tries to turn over one more time.

So he carefully crawls out of the bed and pads into the living room, slipping his underwear on as he goes. He turns the television on, low, and sits on the couch, settling in to watch some late night TV until he feels tired enough to go back into Tony's room and try to sleep again.

He wakes up on the couch, an old sit com rerun flashing on the screen, when Tony slips onto the cushions in front of him, his back to Steve's chest. Tony pulls Steve's arm around his chest and nuzzles his head down onto Steve's other bicep, and with a sigh, falls asleep almost instantly.

Steve presses a gentle kiss to the top of Tony's head, and falls back asleep to the soft sounds of Tony's breath.

 

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

 

Bruce takes a sip of his weird, bitter hippie tea, and Tony leans back in his seat, taking another long drink of his coffee.

“So what else has been going on while I was away?” Bruce asks him, glancing around the coffee shop. “Natasha said you'd met someone.”

Tony waves a hand dismissively. “You know me, Buttercup, I don't do relationships.”

Bruce nods sagely. “But you've been spending time with him.”

“Well, sure. He's amazing in bed. Seriously, you should – well, no, you shouldn't see it, that would be weird, but – he's crazy hot, he looks like a comic book superhero, I swear. Or a movie star playing a comic book superhero. It's almost unfair.”

“Standard arrangement?” Bruce, of course, knows Tony's proclivity for casual sex, his preference to keep feelings out of the mix.

“As usual.”

“Natasha says it's been more than a month.”

Tony takes another gulp of coffee, his cheeks ballooning out before he swallows.

“That's unusual,” Bruce continues.

Tony grins. “He's that good, I swear.”

Bruce chuckles at him. “And you're sure he's not starting to develop feelings for you?”

Tony tilts his head slightly. “You're giving me a lot of credit here, Bruce.”

“Tony... you are somewhat likeable.”

“Gosh, thanks. You're going to make me blush.”

“Seriously, though. Are you sure it's not a relationship?”

“It's not – no. No, he can't be. I told him from the get-go, I was totally up front.”

“I know you don't want to hurt anyone, Tony. But maybe you need to stop things, before it does get too far.”

“You're probably right.” Tony shakes his head quickly. “But he said he was fine without – he said he was good with it being casual.”

“Sometimes, feelings change.”

Tony just nods, ignoring Bruce's knowing look completely and tapping his fingers on his cup.

 

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

 

Tony's cock twitches, bouncing up to hit his belly. It leaves a small bead of fluid on his skin, and his legs tremble.

He's on his hands and knees on the bed, naked, with Steve behind him, tongue darting in and out of his entrance.

Tony moans. “Jesus, Gorgeous, that's fucking – fuck, that's good.”

Steve doesn't answer, his tongue not slowing down as his hands push and massage at Tony's buttocks, the backs of his thighs.

“Jesus, Stud,” Tony groans, spreading his legs further apart. Steve's tongue goes a little deeper inside him, and he cries out, pushing his hips back into the sensation.

His hands are clawing in the sheets, and he's panting, out of breath, as Steve's mouth teases at him, lips and tongue driving him closer and closer to the edge.

“Fuck, I think I could come from this. Jesus, Big Guy, please, you're gonna kill me here. Please, please, please.” He knows he's devolved into broken begging, but he doesn't give a shit because one of Steve's hands has left his thigh to gently cup his balls, thumb sliding up and down on the sensitive skin behind them.

Tony lets out a strangled sound, hips moving back and forth of their own accord, trying to establish a rhythm.

“Come on, Tiger, I'm so close, just a little –” He cries out at the sudden loss as Steve pulls back, away from him, and nips at his buttock.

“You wanna come?” Steve growls, a slick finger pushing its way inside him.

Tony moans, shivering. “Yeah, yes, Sweetness, just fucking – yes, I wanna come.”

“You're gonna say my name,” Steve says, adding another slick finger. Tony pushes back into him, eyes closing and he moans.

“What?”

“You heard me.” Another finger, and Tony keens at the feeling of fullness. “You're going to call me by my name, and I'm going to fuck you,” Steve says with another nip to Tony's hip.

Tony jumps, fingers clenching into the sheets again. “Oh, yeah, please, fuck me.”

“Say it.”

Tony writhes, shaking. Steve pulls his fingers out, and Tony leans back for them, but he hears the sound of the condom wrapper and just spreads his legs further apart, rasping for air.

“Steve. _Steve_ ,” he says, finally, swallowing harshly. “Fuck me, Steve, please.”

Then Steve is sliding into him, thrusting forward hard and fast, and Tony cries out again. With each snap of Steve's hips, skating over his prostate, Tony lurches back to meet him. With each thrust, he cries out again – “Steve! Jesus, Steve, yes, Steve, _Steve –_ ” until there's a just a continuing string of the name on his lips.

Steve's fingers are digging into his hips, and each thrust is pounding into his prostate until Tony can barely breathe, but he's still whispering Steve's name. Steve, behind him, lets out a triumphant cry and grinds his hips forward, pulsing and stuttering against him, all rhythm lost in the force of what is clearly an intense orgasm.

Tony sobs in air, gasping at the sensations, and his cock shoots across the bedding under him, his body clenching around Steve's dick inside him, calling out Steve's name again.

Steve is gently pulling him over onto his side, cock still in him, away from the wet spot, ghosting gentle kisses against the back of Tony's neck and over his shoulder. His big, warm hands are running over his skin, gently, softly, while Tony slowly comes back down to earth.

“You're so good, sweetheart,” Steve murmurs into his skin, and Tony moans when Steve finally pulls out of him, not disposing of the condom yet, just turning Tony around in his arms, so they're face to face.

Steve presses forward and brings his lips to Tony's languidly, tongue seeking gentle entrance, sweeping just inside Tony's mouth. Tony moans into the kiss, and Steve's hand comes up to his face, large thumb tracing back and forth on his cheekbone.

Steve lets out a slow, contented sigh.

 


	4. Chapter 4

Steve walks in the door and goes directly to the coffee pot to pour himself a cup. Bucky is sitting in the kitchen, flipping through the paper, and he can hear the shower going in the bathroom – Natasha must be here.

He breathes in the smell of coffee, and takes a sip before letting out a happy sigh. Bucky looks up at him sharply.

“Mornin', Buck,” he drawls, taking another sip from his mug.

Bucky's eyes narrow.

“I know that look,” he finally says. “Shit, what did I tell you, Stevie?”

Steve furrows his brow. “What're you talking about?”

“The look, Stevie. The look on your face, right now.”

“I haven't got a look.”

“Oh Jesus.” Bucky pinches the bridge of his nose. “You look like fucking Bambi right now. You're goddamned twitterpated.”

“I'm not _twitterpated_ , use your grown-up words, Bucky.”

“I told you – I told you not to fall for this guy, Stevie. I told you it was bad news.”

Steve sits down at the table across from him.

“Bucky, it's okay. It's good.”

Bucky gives him a look. Steve chooses to ignore it.

“Look, I'm telling you, it's fine. I know I said I wasn't going to – I know I said it was just casual, but he's really amazing. Like, really, really amazing.”

“Oh, no.”

Steve chuckles, grinning. “It's really okay, Bucky. Honest. He feels the same, I'm sure of it.”

Bucky stands up from the table leans against the kitchen counter. “Stevie, he told you right from the start that you weren't going to have a relationship –”

Steve leans back, pushing his cup away from himself a little. “I know what he said, but I think he's changed his mind. Last night – it's just... there was more there. There _is_ more between us. I can feel it.”

Bucky shakes his head, and leaves the kitchen to go into his room.

Steve sighs. He wonders why his best friend can't just be happy for him.

 

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

 

Tony wipes the sweat off his face with a towel, tossing it in the hamper near the door. He starts moving to clean up the room, when he notices a shadow coming from the entrance.

He glances up, expecting to see Clint, or Bruce, or maybe even Steve. It's Barnes, Natasha's boyfriend.

He hasn't really talked to Barnes much. He's seen him in the gym a couple of times, working out on the bikes while Natasha's been training someone at the pool, but they haven't spoken. He knows a decent amount about the man, of course, from Steve.

Barnes is wearing a prosthetic arm, and in the back of his mind Tony remembers that Steve had said he doesn't usually wear it at home, only when he's out. Steve says it makes other people feel more comfortable. Barnes would just as soon not bother.

“Hey man,” he says, nodding a greeting at the man in the doorway. “How's it going?”

“You need to break it off with Steve,” Barnes says, eyes hard.

Tony stops what he's doing, and turns his body to face Barnes directly. “What do you mean?”

Barnes snorts. “You know exactly what I mean. Whatever you're doing? This casual, no-relationship thing you're doing? It's not good for him.”

“Uh, do we need to have a talk about consenting adults and minding your own business?”

Barnes lets out a dry laugh, but Tony can tell there's no humour behind it.

“I understand the concept of consenting adults, Stark. The problem is that Steve's not capable of having a relationship without intimacy.”

“What gives you the right to speak for him?”

“Dammit, Stark,” Barnes starts.

“No, really, Barnes, I mean it. He's a grown man, he's 27 years old. He can make his own decisions.”

“He thinks he can, but his judgment is clouded.”

“Oh, please, he's not an invalid.”

“I didn't say that. I said his judgment is clouded.”

“You know what? You're right. He has shitty taste when it comes to friends.”

“Oh, fuck off. I'm looking out for his best interests.”

“You just want him to be miserable, like you are.”

“You don't know a fucking thing about me – or about _him_ ,” Barnes grits out between clenched teeth.

“You need to stay out of my business,” Tony says, crossing his arms in front of himself.

Barnes takes a few deep breaths.

“Look, Stark. I didn't come here to fight with you. But I can tell, Steve is getting attached. Okay? You keep telling him you don't do relationships, well, you're in one. And either you need to get your head out of your ass and realize Stevie is the best thing to happen to you, or you need to break it off with him before he gets in too deep.”

Tony arches an eyebrow. “We said from the beginning that we weren't going to – that it was just going to be casual.”

Barnes snorts. “I'm sure he did say that. I'm sure he even thought he could do it. But he can't. He's all in, now, Stark, and the longer you draw this out, the more you're going to hurt him.”

Tony doesn't have an answer for that, but it doesn't matter because Barnes doesn't wait for one. He just pivots on one heel and stomps away from the boxing studio.

Tony just stares after him.

 

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

 

_Hey, what are you doing?_

Tony glances at the text message from Steve. He goes to write a reply, then stops. Deliberately puts his phone back in his pocket and keeps walking. He's heading to meet Rhodey for lunch.

His pocket vibrates again.

_Are you in a class? Hope I'm not bugging you. Are you busy tonight? I thought I could bring dinner over._

Tony stops walking and leans against the side of a building. He quickly taps out a reply.

_Sorry, I'm busy tonight._

The response comes quickly.

_Ok. Cool. We could do it tomorrow?_

Tony rubs a hand across the lower half of his face, smoothing down his goatee.

_Look, I don't think that's a good idea._

_What's going on?_

Tony's heart starts to pound, but he ignores it. Barnes was right, he can't do this to the guy.

_It's just getting stale, you know? Better we stop now, before it gets too boring._

Tony watches the three little dots appear on the screen, indicating Steve is typing a response.

The dots disappear, but no message comes through. Tony knows it's because Steve has abandoned the reply altogether.

He's lost his appetite, so he sends a quick text off to Rhodey:

_Hey, caught in the middle of something. Can't make lunch. Talk later._

He heads home.

 

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

 

Tony pushes his students too hard the next day – he knows it's too hard because one of his best students, Melinda, is panting and red-faced by the end of the class. He congratulates them all on a good work-out, then heads for the steam room to sit in peace.

He's almost to the locker room when Bruce, out of nowhere, snatches his arm and pulls him toward the yoga studio.

“You need a class,” Bruce says to him, tugging him onward.

“I need a steam.”

“I'm starting a class in five minutes, and I could tell from across the room that you need a few really good sun salutations.”

Tony rolls his eyes, but doesn't shake his arm out of Bruce's grip.

“I'm fine, Bruce.”

“You're going to do this class, and _then_ we can go for a steam.”

Tony sighs. He mostly wants to be alone, but if he tells Bruce that, Bruce will just ask _why_ , and Tony's terrible at lying to him.

He decides it will be easier to just go along.

 

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

 

The yoga doesn't make him feel better. Physically, sure – it helps with the tension that's been seeping through his shoulders since yesterday, but that clenching low in his chest is still there. He's not an idiot, he knows he feels guilty for the way he broke it off with Steve. A text is kind of gross, but he was worried that if he had to be in the same room, he might have been distracted by Steve's kissable mouth, or his clear, blue eyes. A text was better.

He helps Bruce clean up the room and they head to the steam room.

“So, are you going to tell me what's wrong?” Bruce asks him, gently, when they sit down. They're alone.

Tony shrugs. “Nothing's wrong. What could possibly be wrong?”

“Tony.”

“I'm telling you, nothing's wrong.”

“How are things going with that Steve guy? The friend of Natasha's?”

Tony blinks. “That guy? Oh, I'm not sleeping with him anymore.”

Bruce arches a single eyebrow. “You're not?”

“Nah. Things were getting a little heavy.”

Bruce leans back against the wall, brushing a damp curl away from his forehead. “I thought you said the standard arrangement was good.”

Tony shrugs again. “It was, for a while. Then – well, you know.”

Bruce just looks at him for a moment. Tony wonders, not for the first time, how Bruce can look at him both knowingly and without judgment that way.

“And how are you doing with that?”

Tony snorts. “I'm fine, of course.”

“You're sure?”

“Yes. Obviously.”

“It never occurred to you that maybe you could have tried a relationship?”

“What makes you think this guy was relationship material?”

Bruce gives him a small smile. “I've known you for a while, Tony. I have never, since the day we met, known you to sleep with the same person more than once.”

“Well, I have.”

“Not often. And certainly not regularly for a month.”

Tony shrugs. “He's a good lay.”

“Who else did you sleep with in the last month?”

“That's irrelevant.”

“It's very much relevant.”

Tony stands up, clutching the towel around his waist. He suddenly feels the need to get out of this room. “I have somewhere to be,” he says dismissively. He doesn't give Bruce a chance to respond before he's out the door and stalking toward the staff locker room.

 

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

 

Tony gets Clint to cover for his classes the next couple of days, and tells Nick he's taking off. He makes an excuse about a sick aunt, or something, but he knows Nick knows it's a lie. Instead, he stays home and reorganizes his apartment. He plays with some computer code. He designs a few prototypes for some new equipment.

He does _not_ think about Steve.

 

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

 

He's surprised by the knock on his door three days later. When he opens it, he wishes he hadn't.

“Natasha,” he says, fake grin wide as he pulls the door open all the way.

“You know, you didn't have to do it with a text message,” she tells him, walking in and flopping down on his couch – in _his_ spot. Like she _knows_ it's his spot.

Tony rolls his eyes. “I didn't want to draw it out, hurt his feelings.”

“Oh, well then you failed spectacularly.”

Tony sits down, rests his elbows on his knees and looks at the surface of the coffee table.

“It's better this way.”

“Oh, I agree with you. Steve's a really, really nice guy, the last thing he needs is to be running around with you.”

“Hey, that's a little on the nose.”

“He's my _friend_ Tony. Yeah, I'm seeing his roommate, but I've also spent time with him, and he's a really good guy.”

“I didn't _want_ to hurt him,” Tony says.

Natasha reaches out a hand and touches Tony's forearm.

“Tony... you don't exactly seem like the pinnacle of emotional detachment, either.”

Tony shakes his head. “Oh, please. Nat, you know me better than that.”

She gives him an appraising look. “As a matter of fact, I know you well enough to know that I've never seen that many pizza boxes on your counter, and you haven't actually shaved around your goatee in days.”

Tony rolls his eyes. “So I took a few days off. So what?”

She slides off the couch and sits on the coffee table in front of him. Catches his gaze, green eyes boring into his.

“You're hurting.”

“I am not _hurting_ ,” he starts.

“You can't seriously expect me to believe you don't miss him.”

“Well, sure, I guess. I mean, you've seen him, right? He's a goddamned specimen.”

“It's more than that.”

“Well, he's funny. And fun. He's really – he's nice, you know? And kind of sarcastic sometimes when he thinks you won't notice. And so, so hot. And there's the eye thing.”

“The eye thing?”

“When he looks at you, you can tell he's really _seeing_ you, you know?”

“Oh my God –”

“But that doesn't mean –”

“– oh, holy shit –”

“Nat, don't go there –”

“– you're actually in –”

“Don't even fucking –”

“– love with him!”

“No! I am not in _love_ , Natasha. Love is for fairy tales –”

“You totally are.”

“I am not in love. I don't _fall_ in love, Natasha. Love is for children, for movies. It's not something that happens to real people. It's just a way to get hurt, to lose a part of yourself.”

“Oh, Tony,” she says gently, shaking her head. “You're already lost.”

Tony meets her eye, and he can't even deny it anymore.

 

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

 

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

 

Tony grooms his goatee, sharpening the lines and trimming the unruly hairs. He cleans the kitchen, throws out the pizza boxes. Puts on a nice pair of jeans, and the AC/DC T-shirt he was wearing when they first met. He stares at himself in the mirror for a while.

He tries to think of the last time he actually had a relationship, and he's embarrassed to realize it was back in college. No-bullshit Pepper Potts. He'd fucked it up, of course. Too much drinking, not enough remembering plans they made. It wasn't the first relationship he'd destroyed, but it was the last. After Pepper, he decided he was going to have fun. Instead of hurting people he cared about, he would just stop having people to care about.

And it worked. Sort of. He hadn't broken anyone's heart in twenty years.

Though, if Natasha was to be believed, he'd broken that streak.

He's just – he's going to go check on him. That's all. Talk. Maybe – just see how Steve's doing.

That's all.

 

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

 

When the door opens, Steve's the one who answers it. He's got dark circles under his eyes, though they're hard to see because he's wearing his glasses. He's got paint all over his ratty jeans, on his face. He's wearing an old NYU sweatshirt, frayed around the seams, and it's covered in paint, too. His feet are bare, and Tony wants to – shit, this should be easier.

“Hey,” he says, stupidly.

“Tony? What are you doing here?”

“I was just –”

Steve wipes the back of a hand on his thigh, red paint leaving another smear on his pants.

“Did you text? I didn't hear my phone.”

“No, I didn't text. I was –”

“I wasn't expecting company,” Steve says, reaching up to take his glasses off his face. He pushes them up onto the top of his head and Tony wants to kiss him.

“Look, I probably should have called.”

“Is there – is there a problem?” Steve crosses his arms in front of him, and Tony can see his body shrinking in on itself. The hard edge in his eyes.

He did this. This is his fault.

“Were you – were you painting?” Tony Stark, master of scintillating conversation.

“Yeah, I was.”

“Can we talk?”

“Look, Tony, maybe we shouldn't –”

“Please, Steve?”

Steve stares at the floor for a moment, at the wall behind Tony. Pulls the door open further, steps out of the way to let Tony inside the apartment.

“Is, um, is Barnes home?”

“Look, Tony, I'm really not in the mood for a booty call right now.”

“I know. I know that. That's not why I'm here.”

Steve closes the door.

“No, he's out with Nat.”

“Can I see it?”

“What?” Steve mostly just looks confused.

“The painting. What you're working on.”

Steve looks like he's about to refuse, and suddenly Tony's desperate to see it. He's never had any interest in art. Not that he didn't understand its allure, but it just doesn't do anything for him. He's very left-brained. He likes logic and math and analysis. Art doesn't... he doesn't really _get_ it.

But he wants to see it because it's Steve's. This man, whose smile, whose cheeky, cheerful attitude... He wants to see what Steve sees.

After a moment, Steve shrugs, waves a hand vaguely toward the living room. Tony hasn't really seen the apartment before – it looks comfortable, Lived in. Simpler than his own, but happy.

He moves into the living room to get a look at the canvas.

The first thing he notes is that it's abstract. Ish. He thinks there might be fog, and branches. The colours are muted, with lots of dark greys and blacks. There's a few hints of muted red.

He doesn't get it. He can tell it's good, because he's seen good art, but he doesn't understand it.

He can feel it though.

It feels _sad_.

 

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

 

Steve feels like he's going to crawl out of his skin. He doesn't want to be here. He doesn't want Tony here. He doesn't want Tony to see – God, he'd been so stupid.

He knows this. He knows it like he knows the sky is blue. Bucky had _told_ him, over and over again, that Steve would get hurt here.

He'd spent the last month lying to himself. He knows that now. He gets it. Right from the start, he knew better. He knew he couldn't be someone who just had casual sex and didn't get emotionally invested. He fucking _knew_ it.

But Tony is... God, he's amazing. Steve recognizes now that he should have walked away from Tony's front door after that first time Tony kissed him, invited him up. He can admit it to himself now, he'd fallen for Tony hook, line and sinker. It hadn't taken much time.

He's smart, he's funny, he's gorgeous, he's intense. He's kind.

Well, Steve thought he was kind. And then he got that goddamned text message.

He'd thought they were – well, obviously not. Obviously Tony had been playing him from the start.

And Steve has no one to blame but himself. Tony had _told_ him. Over and over again. Tony kept reminding him.

And Steve feels stupid, and childish, and he's so mad at himself. He just kept thinking eventually, maybe, Tony would see. How good they were together.

But Steve had been deluding himself.

So he's spent the last week holed up in the apartment. Painting canvas after canvas, throwing himself into his work. Scolding himself for being such an idiot.

He's just thankful he finally showered this morning, so he doesn't smell like stale whisky, like he has for the past three days.

“It's good,” Tony finally says, gesturing toward the painting in the living room. Steve wants to laugh, but he knows it will come out like glass.

 _Good_. It's brutal and painful, and it's the fourth painting he's done this week, and they're all dark and miserable. It's not _good._ Certainly not sellable.

He moves to the stereo, turns it off. The music was low in the background, but he really, really doesn't feel like tainting his playlist with memories of whatever this conversation is about to be.

He has no idea what Tony could possibly want.

“So what brings you by?” Steve asks, absurdly proud of himself for sounding normal. Casual.

“I wanted to –” Tony stops, shoves his hands in his pockets. “Look, I was an asshole.”

Steve stares at him for a moment. Blinks once. Twice.

“Excuse me?”

“You – you're a great guy, Steve. Amazing. I shouldn't have –”

“Look, Tony, I'm fine. Yeah, I liked you, but it's just – I'll get over it. It's fine.”

Tony shakes his head. “It's not fine.”

“I don't need an apology.”

“I didn't come here to apologize.”

Oh, Steve feels _intensely_ stupid.

“Well, okay, that was part of it, but – I _am_ sorry. I'm... emotionally unavailable. Stunted.”

Steve moves to run a hand through his hair, forgets his glasses are there. They fly back behind him, land on the floor. His face heats, he wishes he could fall through the floor into another dimension. He steps back and picks his glasses up off the floor and tosses them gently onto the kitchen table.

“Look, Tony,” he starts.

“No, no, let me get this out, okay?”

Steve crosses his arms, looks over Tony's shoulder at the wall.

Tony takes a deep breath. “I'm sorry. This is – I had a whole thing.”

Steve huffs out a breath.

“Okay. Okay. I am an asshole. I have a documented history of being an asshole. I don't do relationships.”

“Jesus, I _know_.”

“That's not – I mean, that's been who I am for the last twenty years, Steve. I don't get emotionally attached – I can't.”

“I get it, Tony.”

“You really, really don't.”

Steve just glares, waits for the floor to swallow him whole.

“I used to be better. I had relationships, and I fucked them up in spectacular fashion.”

Steve doesn't know how he's expected to respond, so he doesn't.

“Seriously. It was tragic. And I hurt – I really hurt people I cared about. And that was... painful. I don't like that about myself. So I – I solved the problem, Steve. Can't hurt people if you don't let them in.”

“I don't see what this has to do with –”

“Don't be obtuse,” Tony says, stepping forward quickly so he's in Steve's personal space. Close enough to touch. “It doesn't become you.”

“Tony, don't,” Steve says, moving to turn away. Tony's hand latches onto his forearm, holds him still.

“Steve, please. Let me finish.”

Steve sighs, puffing out his cheeks, looking off to the side. He can't meet Tony's eyes.

“Except, it turns out, you're the exception.”

“Tony, don't.”

“I mean it. Steve, you are amazing. I – when you ran into me on the bridge that day, I thought you were gorgeous. You are. Your shoulder to waist ratio is – seriously, it's not even fair.”

“Look, Tony, that's really nice, but it doesn't matter. Turns out I'm not the kind of guy that can just – get his rocks off, and go home and not think about it.”

“I get that, and I'm sorry. But it's not just about your body. You get that, right? The way you – you call me on my shit, and you listened to me ramble about my day, my life, and boxing, and you didn't pity me, you just – you just accepted me. No one does that, Steve. No one sees me and lights up the way you do. I didn't think – I understand if you don't want to – look, Steve. I don't... I felt something. I've never – in twenty years, I've never felt like that. And I made a mistake – such a big fucking mistake.”

“Tony, stop. Just let it go.” Steve pulls his arm out of Tony's grasp and steps away. “You're you, and I'm me, and we don't belong – we don't work. It's fine. It'll be fine.”

“Steve, please. Listen to me. I care about you.”

“You just miss the sex.”

“Of _course_ I miss the sex, I'm not a freak. But it's not about that. You felt that connection, I know you did.”

“Yes, it's why you broke up with me. In a text message.”

“I didn't – technically, we weren't dating.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“I'm sorry. That wasn't fair.”

“What exactly do you want from me, here, Tony?”

“I want another chance.”

“You're kidding.”

“No, I mean it. I want to try again. I want to make it up to you.”

“You're insane. Seriously insane.”

Steve makes the mistake of catching Tony's eye, and he feels his resolve weakening.

“I'm serious. I'm serious about this, about you. Let me prove it.”

“Tony, you can't –”

“I know I hurt you. I know that, I get it. Let me take you out. We can start over.”

“You can't just start over like that. There's too much...”

“Please, Steve. Please. Let me take you out tomorrow. Dinner. We'll talk. We'll try. Dating. The whole nine yards.”

Steve takes a breath. Fidgets with his fingers, picks at a torn leather seam on the back of the kitchen chair.

“Dinner. Just dinner.”

Tony steps forward, smiling wide. Steve has to swallow at how bright the room suddenly gets.

“I'll pick you up. At seven. It'll be good, I promise.”

“I don't – we'll see.”

Tony keeps smiling, even as he stalks off to the door and leaves the apartment.

Steve sinks down onto the sofa. “Rogers, you idiot.”

 

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

 

“You sure you want to do this?” Bucky asks him, leaning in the bathroom doorway while Steve shaves.

“No, not even kind of,” Steve says, giving Bucky an unsure grin.

“You don't have to go.”

Steve sighs. “I know. But... he looked so earnest.”

“He's an ass.”

“Bucky, he was always honest with me. I have no reason to think he's not being truthful now.”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “Didn't say he was a liar. Said he was an ass.”

Steve flips him off, then rinses the rest of the shaving gel off his face.

“Just... are you sure you wanna do this?”

Steve sighs, turns to face Bucky. “I honestly don't know. But... maybe it's worth it, you know?”

“If he hurts you again, Stevie –” It's as much a warning as a threat.

“I know. Thanks, Buck.”

 

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

 

Tony knocks on the door at 6:58 pm. He's wearing a sport coat, and a dress shirt with pinstripes, and Steve feels severely under dressed in his soft cotton sweater.

“Hey,” he says.

“That colour is great on you,” Tony says, smiling softly, reaching out to tweak the blue fabric on Steve's forearm.

Steve puts his keys in his pocket and comes out into the hallway.

“Car's outside,” Tony grins, gesturing toward the stairwell.

“You have a car?”

“I ordered a service. For tonight.”

“Oh. That's... that's nice.”

“I thought it would be – we're going to Tribeca. I thought it would be nice.”

“It is. I don't – where are we going?”

“We have a table at Bouley.”

“Oh, wow. That's fancy. Am I – should I change?”

“No, no. You're good.”

“You got a table on pretty short notice.”

Tony opens the rear door of a black Lincoln on the curb, and Steve slides in at his invitation. The driver grins into the rear view mirror.

“Evenin',” the driver greets him.

Tony slides in beside him, and Steve smiles nervously.

“Steve, this is Happy. He'll be driving us tonight.”

“Hey, Happy. Nice to meet you.”

“Pleasure,” Happy says with a grin.

“So. A table at Bouley?” Steve asks again.

“Yeah, my dad was – there's a connection. I know the chef, anyway.”

Steve nods slowly. “All right.”

“So. Um. How – how are you?” Tony asks, and Steve can see his knee bouncing.

It makes him feel a little better, that Tony's nervous as well.

 

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

 

The car ride is awkward. Steve doesn't feel like they can really talk, because of Happy. Not that it matters, because he can't think of a single thing to say.

They're seated at their table pretty quickly, and Steve's lived in New York long enough to know that that's a big deal.

He's not used to french cuisine, so he doesn't really know what to order.

“You decide,” he says to Tony with a shrug. “I'm not picky.”

“Not picky?” Steve can tell there's an acerbic remark on the tip of his tongue, but Tony bites it back. “Okay. Okay, I'll pick – do you like oysters?”

“Sure,” Steve says, a little disappointed. Tony's wit is one of the things he fell for in the first place.

Tony orders him the oysters and the lamb. He chooses a dark red wine, and even though Steve's not much of a wine drinker, it's not bad.

Tony takes a long drink from his glass, and they stare at one another for a moment.

“So. How's work?” Steve asks him.

“It's fine. Well, I actually took a few days off, but it's probably fine.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, I didn't – I got Clint to cover my classes.”

“That's good.”

“Yeah.”

It's all terribly, terribly awkward. Steve feels like he's walking on eggshells. Tony's being a gentleman, he's being nice, but he's – Steve feels like he's behind glass. Like Tony's afraid to interact with him.

He's about to say something when the first course comes. It's good – Steve's not used to fancy food, not by a long shot, but it's good. Tony insists he take a bite of trout from his plate, and Steve obediently opens his mouth to let Tony's fork place some on his tongue.

Steve grins at him, chewing slowly. “It's good,” he says. Some of the awkwardness finally starts to dissipate, but it's still weird.

“So, tell me more about – about your family, I guess?”

Steve shrugs. “There's not really – there's nothing to tell, actually. You know what happened to them.”

“Yeah, but I don't know what they were like – tell me a story about your mom.”

Steve looks at the table for a moment.

“When I was – God, I guess I was 14 or 15? It was just a couple years before she died. Anyway, Bucky and I, we skipped classes. Mom was always really adamant that I get good grades. She was a nurse, and she worked shift work, so she couldn't be around that much. But she always said that grades were the most important thing. I wasn't going to get anywhere if I wasn't at the top of the class. If I got an A on a test, she wanted to know why it wasn't an A-plus.”

“That sounds rough,” Tony says.

“Oh, no. I mean, at the time, sure, but she meant well. You know? Anyway, I was going through my rebellious phase. Bucky and I decided to skip class. There was this little sports bar a few blocks from our school. They had pool tables, and stuff, and we had fake IDs, but they didn't check 'em too close, you know? So we cut class and decided we'd go spend the afternoon playing pool.”

“You any good?”

Steve grins at him. “I'm terrible, and we should definitely play for money.”

Tony grins back.

“Anyway,” Steve continues. “We're sitting there, taking a break from our game, and this cop comes in. Chats with the bartender for a while, gets a sandwich to go, and leaves. Bucky and me, we're sweating bullets, right? Thinking he's gonna ask us for our age, and he's gonna know the cards are fake. But he goes, and we figure we dodged a bullet. We're invincible, so we keep playing.”

“Of course, always a sound decision.”

“Now, I wasn't – this is back when I was just a little guy. I worked out like crazy in college, but I was a really skinny kid. Bucky was, like, human-sized, but I always felt like a kid next to him. So I guess there's no reason to think the bartender believed my ID. I looked like I was maybe 11, not 15 – never mind 21. So ten minutes later, my mom walks in. Except Bucky and I are in the middle of our game and we don't notice. It's not until I turn away from the table, go to sit down in our booth, and she's sitting there. She's sitting in our booth, eating my goddamned french fries.”

Tony's laughing quietly, pressing his lips together into a thin line.

“I just about wet myself. She hauled me out of there by the ear. Turns out the bartender knew our IDs were fake, and told the cop, and the cop recognized us because of Bucky's cycling, because he was already getting attention around the neighbourhood. He knew my mom because the hospital was on his beat. So he saw us in the bar and he just – he just went by the house and told her, instead of arresting us.”

“What did she do?”

“Oh, I was grounded for weeks. But she didn't yell or anything. She just – she always caught me, whenever I tried to – to do something. I wasn't a _bad_ kid, but I just couldn't get anything past her.”

“She sounds like a good mom,” Tony says quietly, reaching a hand across the table to cover Steve's.

“She was.”

 

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

 

After dinner, Tony ushers him back to the car, and Happy takes them to Battery Park. They stroll through the park, eating ice cream.

“So. Good date?” Tony asks, bumping Steve's shoulder gently.

“Tony...”

“I know. I'm pushing. I'm not – I'm not a patient person.”

Steve chuckles low in his throat. They're on a footbridge, over a little pond. He leans over the railing, and starts breaking off pieces of his ice cream cone and tossing them toward the swans in the water beneath them.

“It's been a good date,” he agrees, nodding. He steps away from the railing and they keep walking.

Tony's hand brushes against his, and Steve reaches for it, looking to link their fingers, when Tony jumps forward, letting out an angry curse.

“What the fuck?” he growls, whirling around.

Steve looks around, startles, and sees. One of the swans from the pond is behind where Tony had been standing, wings held up threateningly. It's hissing.

It's actually hissing.

The swan bursts forward, letting out a honk while trying to hit Tony with its wings.

Tony jumps back, letting out a cut-off little scream.

Steve can't help it. He bursts out laughing.

The swan chases Tony for a few minutes, and Steve has tears streaming down his face. He's doubled over, and he can't catch his breath.

Tony is cursing, dancing away from the swan every few steps, and Steve finally gets himself under control enough to help Tony wave away the swan. Once Tony feels safe, he whirls around and gives Steve an accusing glare.

“You left me to _die_ ,” he says, fists on his hips.

Steve laughs. “It was a swan, Tony. It wasn't going to kill you. It must have felt threatened.”

“Are you seriously blaming the victim right now? I won't have you casting aspersions on my character.”

Steve laughs again, eyes twinkling. “I'm just saying, it's a swan. People walk through this park all the time, you must have just looked at it funny.”

“You know what? I blame you, actually.”

“Excuse me?”

“Oh, don't act all innocent with me. You gave it part of your ice cream cone, and then you walked away. That's why it attacked me.”

“Then why did it go after you, and not me?” Steve asks, eyebrows raised challengingly.

“Because you're bigger. It's an evil, calculating swan, not stupid.”

Steve chuckles. “I'm sorry I almost got you eaten by a swan, then.”

“Good. Thank you. That's all I wanted, was an apology.”

“Stop pouting,” Steve says, laughing again.

Tony's face softens, and Steve finds himself captivated by dancing brown eyes.

“You take my breath away,” Tony tells him, stepping forward so they're close enough to kiss. “When you laugh. It's like everything else just falls away.”

“Tony...”

“Kiss me.”

Steve's gaze drops to Tony's lips, wet and waiting, and back to his eyes, dark and serious.

He hesitates, just for a second. And he makes a decision.

 

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

 

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

 

Tony's hands fist in Steve's hair, keeping his head still while he plunders the taller man's mouth. He's got Steve pressed against his kitchen counter, but the pressure he's using to keep him there is contrasted by the relative gentleness of the kiss. It's deep, but it's also soft. Tony is trying to pour an apology, a promise, into it.

Steve's hands push at the sport coat on his shoulders, and Tony lets him push it off his shoulders. It drops to the floor, and Tony starts rucking at the hem of Steve's sweater, trying to expose more skin.

They're a tangle of limbs, stroking and undressing, as they make their way to the bedroom without breaking their kiss. Steve's calves hit the edge of the mattress and Tony gently pushes him down, crawling over him, letting naked skin slide over naked skin. Tony's mouth is everywhere, pressing gentle, soft kisses across Steve's flesh.

“I missed you,” Tony whispers against Steve's clavicle, and Steve shudders in response, fingers kneading the hard muscle of Tony's back. “It was only a week, but I missed you so much.”

“Tony, I –”

“Shh. Shh, honey, just let me show you,” Tony says, taking Steve's mouth in a soft kiss. Steve nods, hands roaming, and then Tony is kissing his way down Steve's body. He doesn't tease – when he gets down between Steve's legs, he takes his hard cock in his mouth, and slowly pushes down as far as he can.

Steve can't speak. He just moans, hands fisting themselves into Tony's hair. He's not pulling, just desperate for more contact.

There are slick fingers at his entrance, and Steve gasps, letting his legs fall open wider. He briefly wonders where Tony had the lubricant stashed, but he's quickly lost to the feeling of being stretched open and prepared, so his mind doesn't linger.

Tony pulls his mouth away, and Steve whines at the loss. Then he hears the condom wrapper, and his legs are pushed open, up, and the blunt, hard head of Tony's cock nudging into him. He pushes back, trying to bring Tony into him faster, and Tony thrusts all the way in, carefully but quickly.

It's a slow rhythm, but Steve's heart pounds, regardless.

“God, you feel good, Sweetheart,” Tony murmurs into the crook of his neck, sliding in and out of his body.

“Tony, please,” Steve gasps. He's not sure what he's asking for – faster? Harder? Closer? It doesn't matter – Tony gives him everything.

Tony presses their lips together, tongue seeking entrance and then slipping in and out of his lips in a mirror of what his cock is doing. Steve feels surrounded, as Tony's hips push forward a little deeper, a little faster.

“God, Steve,” Tony says, breaking his mouth away to try and suck in air. Steve is panting as well, unable to form words as every thrust of Tony's hips slides over his prostate. His cock is pressed between their sweat-slick bodies, the pressure and friction driving him ever closer to orgasm.

“Tony, I – you feel so good,” he finally manages to breathe out, hands clenching on Tony's waist, trying to pull him deeper.

“Steve – I – Steve, I love –”

Sound rushes in Steve's ears, his vision blazing with white spots, blind and deaf as his body writhes under Tony's, cock spurting across their chests.

Tony's hips speed up, pounding into him, making him cry out with every stroke to his prostate. He gasps in air when Tony stills over him, crying out in ecstasy against his lips.

Tony's head buries itself in Steve's neck, both of them gasping and shaking with the force of their pleasure.

When Steve finally comes down, and Tony gently pulls out, away from his body to dispose of the condom, he swallows.

“Tony. Tony, you said...”

Tony wraps the condom in a tissue and tosses it toward the waste basket.

“I know what I said. I meant it, Steve. Maybe not the best time to say it, but...”

“No, it was. It was the perfect time,” Steve argues, pressing forward for a deep kiss.

When Tony finally breaks away, still breathless from their lovemaking, he brushes a hand across Steve's brow.

“That day – on the bridge that day, I was so drawn to you. I thought it was just physical, but after that night – you're all I thought about. I was addicted.”

“Tony...”

“Let me finish, Sweetheart. I thought it was just – I thought it was the sex, but it wasn't just that. It was – I connected to you. I think I started falling in love with you even then, and I just kept denying it to myself.”

“It's okay.”

“I shouldn't have pushed you away.”

“I forgive you,” Steve says, pressing a kiss to Tony's cheek and pulling him closer.

After a moment, Steve shrugs.

“I love you too, you know,” he finally says.

Tony surges up for another deep kiss, and Steve's the one to break it this time.

“Go to sleep, Tony.”

“Don't wanna sleep. Don't want to miss another second with you.”

Steve chuckles. “Cheeseball. It's okay, babe. We have tomorrow, too.”

“The sun'll come out,” Tony sings under his breath, and Steve smacks his rump, laughing.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bouley is, in fact, a restaurant in Tribeca, which is in New York. Having never been to New York, I have no idea if it's any good. But their menu is online, so, you know. RESEARCH.
> 
> The story Steve tells about his mom is somewhat loosely based on a story about my own mother, whom you cannot put one past. At all.
> 
> According to Google Maps, there does not appear to be a pond in Battery Park. However, according to canon, Steve Rogers is Captain America, not a somewhat-successful artist, and Tony Stark is Iron Man, not a kickboxing instructor. So, you know. I took some liberties and built a pond.
> 
> My husband assures me swans are assholes, but I've never met one in real life so I can't attest to that. He has been the victim of swan-bullying, though, so I assumed it was safe to besmirch their character.
> 
> Why are there even swans?
> 
> I seriously cannot believe this turned out as long as it did. I expected maybe 5,000 words. I've never written a real AU before, so hopefully it's not too weird. I tend to prefer canon-divergence to AU, but for some reason this just called to me. Possibly because I'm crazy.
> 
> Anyway. Thanks for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> I have a [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/robintcj) where I reblog pretty pictures and occasionally complain about the writing process.


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